


Learnings of a Detective!

by Geeky_Mind



Series: Adventures of A Detective and the Noirette! [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Female Harry Potter, Implied/Referenced Torture, Possessive Sherlock, Sex, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27865454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geeky_Mind/pseuds/Geeky_Mind
Summary: The journey of Sherlock, Helena and John continues.
Relationships: Harry Potter/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Harry Potter
Series: Adventures of A Detective and the Noirette! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921897
Comments: 17
Kudos: 113
Collections: Harry Potter Favs





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Sadly, I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock. They belong to their respective authors and writers. This is written for purely entertainment and no money is being made.
> 
> In case you haven’t read the prologue – Adventures of A Detective and The Noirette! and the first part – Curious Case of the Enigmatic Noirette, it won’t make much sense. I would strongly suggest you read those before reading this one.
> 
> It is obvious that many things have been changed according to my story, but many things are the same as the BBC’s Sherlock. I’ve changed some events accordingly and I’ll let you know as we go forward.
> 
> I would like to apologize for any mistakes in advance as I do not have a beta. Please do not copy this story anywhere.

**April 16 th 2010**

** 221B **

John took a long-suffering sigh and hung his head tiredly even before entering inside the flat. Sherlock was standing by the window, playing his violin, just as he had been doing this morning… and last night.

“I see you still haven’t moved.” He commented lightly but as expected, received no reply.

Shaking his head, he was about to close the door behind him when Sherlock spoke, “Leave it open.”

With a huff, John opened it again and slumped on his chair.

Helena had been AWOL for nearly 6 days now and to say that Sherlock was ‘sulking’ would be an understatement. Though saying AWOL wouldn’t be entirely true. She had left a note saying that she was going out for work and would be back in a couple of days. Not only was she a grown woman, but also a witch who had grown up in an entirely different world. It should not have been a big deal and it really wasn’t, but for some reason, it did not sit well with Sherlock. He already dragged the poor girl along on their cases… what else could she do? Leave her job – which, he might add, was definitely paying well, to solve cases with Sherlock?!

Now, he was getting accustomed to Sherlock’s tantrums with time, but they had only gotten worse since Helena left. Nor he, neither Mrs Hudson could understand the reason behind Sherlock’s behaviour. Though he hadn’t said anything, as the saying goes – _‘actions speak louder than words.’_ They hadn’t closed the main door of their flat for nearly 5 days now! And unfortunately, there hadn’t been many cases to occupy Sherlock lately and John had no idea how to handle his grumpy flatmate.

If it had been someone else, anyone apart from Sherlock, he would’ve said that the man liked Helena, but with his roommate, he couldn’t tell. For all he knew, his fascination could be because Helena was a witch and Sherlock knew nothing about her kind or her world. Though, that certainly did not explain Sherlock’s behaviour and his bouts of possessiveness regarding the said witch. Barging in someone’s flat when they were in the middle of… having sex was even too low for Sherlock.

Mrs Hudson agreed, since she’d known the detective, even she hadn’t seen someone affecting Sherlock as Helena did.

There was no doubt in his mind that Sherlock was selfish, tactless and insensitive. Molly being the prime example and he was no better to anyone else, himself included. But that wasn’t the case with Helena. Normally, he pushed people until proven right, disregarding their feelings and emotions, but he had yet to see that side of Sherlock when it came to Helena. Maybe it was because the girl never took the bait or maybe because she knew which buttons to push… but whatever it might be, she was the only one who knew how to deal with the man, at least to an extent.

It went without saying that there weren’t many people who could withstand Sherlock, but Helena took everything in stride and if he wasn’t wrong, she even enjoyed it… most of the times at least. He had his suspicions… after all, she did follow Sherlock to places which could potentially be dangerous without questioning.

John didn’t understand how these two worked. For people who had been strangers not long ago, Sherlock and Helena were oddly protective of each other. It was unmistakable how Sherlock ‘responded’ every single time someone said something… anything to Helena. It was as if no one other than the great man himself was allowed to talk to her. And though she stayed silent most of the times, Helena certainly had a vindictive streak and John wasn’t ashamed to say that he was a bit scared of her.

He was startled out of his musings when he heard a loud shriek. Startled, he looked at Sherlock, who had stopped playing and was staring back at him; their eyes held the same question – _‘what was that?’_

Another shriek, louder this time and Sherlock hurriedly kept his violin on the sofa before rushing downstairs with John on his heels. Instead of rushing outside as John had expected, Sherlock ran towards 221C and slammed the door open. The place was empty with no sign of anyone when they heard another cry coming from the backyard. They shared a look and they sprinted towards it.

But both their eyes widened when their eyes fell in the broken figure lying on the grass. She was covered in blood and one of her hand was clutched tightly to her chest – unquestionably broken, while the other was lying beside her. Sherlock’s eyes fell on the two pieces of wood – her broken wand lying not far away. Whoever had attacked her and he was certain that it had been the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback and his pack, had broken it so she hadn’t been able to defend herself. She was wearing a brown coat which didn’t belong to her – someone gave it to her after they found her, possibly Neville or Oliver.

“Jesus!” John gasped from beside him, but Sherlock’s was entirely focused on her.

From here, he couldn’t see if she was breathing, so Sherlock rushed forward, only to halt when he heard a loud shriek – the same one he’d heard before. He looked up sharply for the source of the voice when a large… bird flew right above their heads and both John and him flung themselves onto the ground instinctively.

Sherlock looked up just in time to see… its four ill-assorted feet hitting the ground right next to Helena. He stared dumbfounded at the creature, blinking rapidly in case he was hallucinating. Peaking over to John, he sighed because the man seemed similarly baffled. He had read about the creatures in the book she had given him, but this one wasn’t mentioned in it.

The creature was huge – something between half-horse and a bird. It had the head of a giant eagle and the body, hind legs and tail of a horse. It had stormy grey feathers and orange eyes that stared right at him.

“What – the – bloody – hell…?” John shouted, alerting the creature further and it let out another shriek, looking ready to attack.

John was scared as he moved to sit up on his knees cautiously but didn’t run, while Sherlock’s eyes flicked towards Helena before landing on the bird again. As if on cue, it flapped its enormous wings, which were roughly twelve-foot long, either side of Helena and blocked their view. The winged creature had razor-sharp claws that could slash either of them if provoked. He stared at it, for the first time feeling uncertain.

Frozen with fear and shock, they stayed where they were, eyes flittering from the girl to the bird. If Helena was alive, she needed a doctor – someone who knew wizarding medicines. Sherlock’s mind was running, thinking of numerous possibilities when there was a low groan and his eyes snapped towards the girl hidden behind the large wing and Sherlock released a breath, he didn’t even know he had been holding.

But the next thing boggled his mind even further. The creature lowered his head with a low cry, nothing like the loud shriek they’d heard before and nudged Helena softly.

“What…?” It came from John and Sherlock couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Seriously? It was obvious that the bird was Helena’s familiar. John seemed incapable of saying something intelligent, though he felt no better, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Bk – b’k…” Helena croaked out and with a jolt, Sherlock realised that the bird trying to protect her… from the two of them.

 _‘Magical creature.’_ He thought before shaking his head. The decision being made, Sherlock stood up from the ground, alerting the bird once more.

“What – are – you – doing?” John hissed.

Sherlock ignored him and stood up slowly. Raising both his hands in front of the bird, he took a step closer tentatively, making the bird turn its head sharply and stare at him with one fierce orange eye. He noticed how its wings fluttered and the creature pushed himself straight, readying himself for an attack.

He kept his eyes steadily on the orange ones and said slowly, “She needs help. I can help her.”

The bird stared back at him haughtily, but he made sure to keep his eyes on the bird. It looked back at Helena before coming to some conclusion and took a step back. Sherlock moved forward slowly, ignoring John’s panicked whispers and kept his eyes on the bird and the girl simultaneously, but it didn’t do anything apart from staring mistrustfully.

Once close, Sherlock threw himself across the ground, landing in a half-crouch over Helena and inhaled sharply when he took in the extent of her injuries – she was wearing nothing but the brown coat which gave a clear view of the sharp claw marks over her chest and her left hand; laceration on the face, one still bleeding; contusion on the back of the skull; leg lying on an unnatural angle – fractured ankle; he made a quick work of the robes where the blood was blossoming and couldn’t hold back the grimace when he saw the left side of her upper abdomen had been slashed and a chunk of the piece was missing from her shoulder.

 _'Animal teeth.’_ he thought. _‘’Werewolf. The same ones who had raped those girls. Tried, and Sherlock was relieved to see that they hadn’t succeeded with Helena.’_

Cold skin, weak pulse and for one valuable second, he felt paralysed. He was Sherlock Holmes. He didn’t panic over other people. It was just how it was… but somehow – somehow, that was exactly what he was doing.

Panicking.

 _‘No time to panic. There was no time!’_ he chastised himself.

Shuddering internally, he knew that her only chance of survival was if she got treated by one of her own and he pulled his phone out before throwing it towards John. “John! Call Dr Black! Tell him its Helena!”

Nodding, John fumbled with Sherlock’s phone before searching for the number.

Sherlock wasn’t sure how many more injuries she might’ve sustained and he wasn’t going to risk moving her. He covered her back before taking a deep breath and hurriedly picked up the pieces of her wand and stuffing in the pocket of his gown.

He took a breath before lifting Helena swiftly, but carefully. She whimpered painfully and a tear fell before vanishing in her hair.

“I am sorry.” He whispered and rushed towards her room, trying not to jostle her any more.

She looked at him blearily, with feverish eyes and rasped slowly, “Sh’r’lk…?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” He told her, unsure if he was convincing her or himself, but he looked down, only to see that she had fainted.

He slowly deposited her on the bed, just as John entered and said, “He said he will be here within minutes.”

John eyed the bird warily before deciding that it would be better if he made himself useful. He had seen how different the potions and ointments she used were and didn’t want to make anything worse, but starting by stopping the blood flow seemed like a good idea. He moved towards her bathroom, finding a medical kit and nodded. Removing the coat, his own eyes widened when he saw her condition and forced himself to help as much as he could.

Sherlock swallowed when Helena whimpered as soon as John touched the gash on her abdomen and crossed his arms across his chest impatiently as they waited for Dr Black.

* * *

It had been no more than 4 minutes when they heard a sound of distinct knocking and he rushed towards the main door. The blonde doctor nodded as soon as he entered and greeted, “Mr Holmes.”

Sherlock didn’t bother with niceties and stated, “She was attacked.”

He showed Dr Black to 221C, but just as the man stepped inside, there was an angry shriek from the bird. Malfoy froze as his eyes fell on the ‘bird’ and paled dramatically; Sherlock noticed with a frown. _‘He had been attacked by the bird.’_ He thought.

“Wh-what’s he doing here?” Malfoy choked out.

“The bird was with Helena when we found her,” Sherlock stated, eyeing the doctor, who took a shuddering breath and followed him to her room.

John stood up from where he was kneeling beside Helena’s bed, cleaning her wounds when they entered and Sherlock didn’t miss how Dr Black’s eyes widened when his eyes fell on Helena.

The blonde rushed by her side and put his bag down. Sherlock kept his eyes on the wizard as he waved his wand over Helena and suddenly, different coloured lights appeared on top of her. He noticed with interest that they were particularly coming from the parts where she had been hurt. _‘Method of deducing injuries, then. Fascinating.’_

Malfoy pursed his lips but slumped with something akin to relief before straightening back up.

“Broken ribs; contusion; the bones in her wand hand had been crushed and a fractured ankle, but they can be regrown easily; splinched and oh...” the man flinched when he saw the missing piece from her shoulder and the sharp claw marks over her chest, he uttered sombrely, “She has been bitten.”

Sherlock suddenly remembered what he had read about werewolves… _‘bitten, but not on a full moon. It would affect her habits here and there, but she wouldn’t transform.’_

There was a loud pop from her living room and a voice shouted, “Helena?!”

Neville rushed into the room and slumped with relief when he saw the girl lying on the bed, but it was short-lived because his body went rigid when his eyes fell on the doctor who was standing beside her.

“Malfoy?” Neville asked suspiciously and his fingers tightened on his wand. “What are you doing here?”

“I called him.” Sherlock snapped, and their heads turned towards him, though their stance remained rigid. “He is a doctor at St Bartholomew's hospital.”

“She's alive, but barely. We need to get her to Mungo's.” Malfoy stated, still waving her wand over her shoulder.

“Mungo's?” John asked.

“Wizarding hospital, John.” Frustrated, Sherlock replied before questioning, “How do we take her?”

Malfoy grimaced, but it was Neville who spoke, “Muggles aren’t allowed in Mungo's.”

“What?!” Sherlock snarled.

"Go. I'll meet you there.” Malfoy told Neville, who gave a stiff nod and dropped a coin on Helena’s body before the two vanished.

Sherlock stepped forward and said intimidatingly, “There must be some way.”

“Sherlock…” John put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Sorry, but it’s warded and you won’t be able to enter.” Malfoy told them before adding, “Look, I – it doesn’t look good, but if anyone can pull through… its Helena Potter.”

Sherlock didn’t look happy and downright bared his teeth, much to John’s surprise and Malfoy nearly jumped back with fright, well aware of Mr Holmes reputation.

“Look, can you at least let us know how she's doing?” John asked instead before Sherlock could do something which would make the other man vanish.

Dr Black gave them a single nod before turning on the spot and vanishing with a loud pop.

* * *

** April 20th **

John had just entered 221, already dreading what condition he might find his flat or flatmate in and was about to go upstairs when there was a loud sound. One he was starting to get accustomed to, but still, he jumped and suddenly out of nowhere, Helena appeared in front of him.

Her long hair was tied in a braid and bruised face along with the skimpy hospital gown didn’t do much to hide her injuries. Her face was sweaty and pale, her right hand and left ankle were in a cast, bandages covered almost every visible part of her body – from her head, shoulder, chest, right hand and down to the ankle.

She leaned against the wall, breathing heavily as her eyes met his. He wanted to ask her what the hell was she doing here and who in their freaking mind let her out of the bed… when she collapsed. He darted forward and caught her before she could hit the ground and injure herself any further.

“Hello.” She mumbled, holding onto his shoulder for support.

He shook his head and uttered, “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

John didn’t wait for her to respond. His questions could wait because right now, she needed to lay down, but before he could take her to her flat, he heard footsteps and as expected, Sherlock bounded towards them. Stopping in front of the two, he eyed the girl, no doubt surveying the damage and nearly sighed with relief as if he hadn’t expected to see her again.

“You’re here.” He stated.

John wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or Sherlock seemed somewhat less… cold at the moment. His face was still closed off, but those grey eyes were staring at the girl hanging onto him softly, with an expression John hadn’t seen on his face before. They held warmth like John had never expected to see from his flatmate and he shifted uncomfortably, even as he kept his hold on Helena to keep her upright.

“You left without informing anyone,” Sherlock spoke.

Helena, who had been holding onto John’s shoulders until now, turned towards the voice and just nodded her head slowly, indicating that indeed she had left without informing anyone.

 _‘Ah. That certainly explained what she was doing out of the hospital, then.’_ John thought.

Then much to his astonishment, Sherlock stepped closer and pulled her to him before lifting her effortlessly. John had been expecting some kind of protest from her but was rendered speechless when instead of saying something sarcastic or maybe yelling, she melted right into the detective.

She buried her face into his shoulder and mumbled, “I wanted to come home.”

Sherlock, in turn, pressed his nose against the top of her head.

John was flummoxed… so it clearly wasn’t his fault that he was staring open-mouthed and had missed Sherlock asking him to open the door of 221C until the man turned, visibly irritated and arched an eyebrow questioningly.

“Er… yeah. Sorry.” John muttered and hurriedly opened the door.

Sherlock carried her inside, over to her bed and propped her against the bed rest carefully before standing by the edge of the bed. He looked at her and stated, “They’ll be here soon.”

“I don’t like hospitals.” Helena shrugged and couldn’t hold back the pained grimace.

“Of course, you don’t,” Sherlock said as if it was obvious.

CRACK!

CRACK!

John jumped startled, but Sherlock stayed where he was, not indicating that something was amiss and aimed a cold look towards the two men who had just appeared in the room.

“ELLE!” Ron shouted, causing the four occupants to flinch, but he didn’t notice and threw himself on Helena, hugging her with all his might.

Sherlock didn’t miss how she gasped with pain or her eyes watered, and he snapped at the man furiously, “You’re hurting her!”

“Oh!” Ron jumped away as if on fire and said sheepishly, “Sorry.”

“Are you alright?” John asked.

She gave a shaky nod at which Sherlock rolled his eyes and said, “Of course, she’s not alright, John! She’s surrounded by idiots.”

His jab was aimed at the two wizards, who frowned, but Neville shook his head and asked her agitatedly, “Do you know how worried we’ve been?”

“You know I don’t like hospitals.” She mumbled back before adding, “…and I’m not going back.”

Neville slumped and his eyes softened as he said, “We know… that’s why we called Poppy.”

Green eyes snapped up at him and she gave a strained smile that was filled with gratitude. Nodding her head, she rested her head back and closed her eyes. Standing around the bed, the four men stared at her and she mumbled without opening her eyes, “Its creepy.”

As if on cue, a woman appeared in her room. She was wearing white robes and was clutching a bag, though her wand wasn’t hidden like the rest of them. She was holding it in her hand as she rushed towards Helena, hushing them out of the way and huffed, “I suppose you’ve has been doing something dangerous again? You’re not even in school anymore!”

She didn’t wait for her to reply and put her bag down. Much to John and Sherlock’s utter bafflement, the medicines flew out of the bag after she waved a wand over it. She worked flawlessly for a couple of minutes before muttering, “They’re healing, but it’ll take time. You’ll need rest… possibly a month.”

“A month?!” Helena gasped horrified.

“A month, Miss Potter.” The woman looked at Helena and stated firmly, her tone left no room for argument.

Helena slumped and satisfied, the woman continued, “I’m worried about the bite and the marks. I’m afraid there will be changes, like Mr Weasley’s.”

The matron tugged on her dressing down and Sherlock’s eyes fell on her shoulder. It hadn’t healed, but he was surprised to see that at least, the mass of her body wasn’t missing anymore. Then his eyes fell on the claw marks. They were partially healed… but less than the injuries that had been initially worse. Even they looked weeks old and new skin stretched over what had been open flesh. So, why hadn’t the claw marks healed like the others? He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Can’t you fix them with a charm or a potion?”

He knew the woman could be trusted and was proficient in her area of expertise. He also was aware that she would be able to take care of most of Helena’s ailments in a heartbeat.

“No charm will work on these,” said Madam Pomfrey. “There is no cure for werewolf bites, but Mr Malfoy is working on something. He believes it might help.”

Once the wounds on Helena’s head, arm and leg were cleaned and bandaged, the woman didn’t look up and ordered, “Everyone, out!”

Her word left no room for argument and her friends nodded reluctantly before scurrying out without protest, but Sherlock scowled. He opened his mouth to tell the woman just what he thought about the idea, when John spoke, “I can help. I’m a doctor… if you need?”

She looked up, synchronizing John and finally nodded, “I can use some help.”

John joined the woman with a single nod, before taking a nasty-smelling ointment handed by the woman and started dabbing at the claw marks over Helena’s chest. The scars were healed somewhat, but they were just as bad as the day he had seen them first. Sherlock though, stayed by the door, stubbornly refusing to let some old woman intimidate him.

Now the woman looked at him and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t force my hand, boy.”

John decided to speak before the angry witch/matron end up cursing the man, so he said pleadingly, “She’s better, Sherlock and I’ll let you know as soon as we’re done here.”

Sherlock contemplated for a few seconds and nodded at him, but glared at the woman viciously before leaving.

* * *

It had been an hour, in which Sherlock stomped all over the place, glaring daggers at an oblivious redhead, who had taken upon himself to divest Helena’s fridge by consuming everything there was to eat. Also, much to Sherlock’s annoyance, Neville had made himself at home on Helena’s sofa. Sherlock hated him. The stupid man was the reason Helena had been hurt in the first place. How come he had come out of the fight with barely a scratch and Helena had to fight for her life? He wanted to beat the man and then throw him out.

At this particular moment, he even loathed Mrs Hudson who had offered these blubbering idiots tea and biscuits... as if they were guests.

Which was why he was more than relieved when John and the matron came out of the room, informing them that Helena was better, but it would take her quite a bit of time to heal completely. She showed John which potions to administer and had placed Helena in a magically induced sleep for twenty-four hours so that she could heal properly.

* * *

** April 23rd **

** 221B **

To say that Sherlock was having a hissy fit wouldn’t be far-fetched. The man had been stomping all over the living room, ranting about the _‘inconvenience of having uncalled visitors’_ , especially when the said _‘visitors’_ weren’t even in their flat was rather ironic, according to John. The detective jumped onto his sofa, pulled his feel up and held his knees with both his hands, still complaining. John chose to stay quiet and didn’t interrupt… not until the man-child spoke his next words.

“Mrs Hudson could cook for Helena. Her food tastes far better and superior than Mrs Granger- Weasley’s ever could.”

Shaking his head, John didn’t look up from his book and asked distractedly, “How do you know? You haven’t tasted anything she has cooked yet.”

Sherlock ignored him and continued, “Or she can order takeout! Their daily visits are completely unnecessary!”

“Sherlock… Helena is suffering from a traumatic event. She is all alone and they’re her friends. There’s nothing wrong in taking care of friends.” John tried to reason, still immersed in his book.

Sherlock looked insulted and stated, “She’s not alone! You and Mrs Hudson are here.” Then he added stiffly, “I’m here.”

Finally, John looked up and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I know, but them being here… it’s different.”

“Different how?” Sherlock asked with a confused frown.

John closed his book, contemplating how to explain something which necessarily was ‘sentiment’ and said, “Well… Helena said she had known them ever since they were 11. They fought a war together. The two of them…. they’re more than her friends. They’re her family.”

Sherlock threw a look at him indicating that he was being mental and John sighed, “It’s not a big deal. People do it for the ones they love all the time.”

“People are mind-numbingly stupid,” Sherlock muttered sourly and jumped up from his sofa to check if the visitors of 221C had left.

John shook his head, still unable to understand the reason behind his friend’s petulance.

* * *

** April 25th **

** 221 **

A scream erupted throughout the house, jostling its occupants awake in the middle of the night. Sherlock’s eyes snapped open from where he had been lying on the sofa in his living room. He heard John’s door being opened, but didn’t wait and rushed downstairs just in time to see Mrs Hudson hurrying out of her flat.

He opened the door of 221C and rushed inside, already having an inkling what caused the scream. Just like he had assumed, Helena had a nightmare. She was awake. The blankets were in a crumpled heap on the foot of the bed, one of her fists was clenched tightly in the bedsheet below, while the other was holding onto a wand – it differed from her last one greatly, this wasn’t hers, but not a new one either, she had a spare, he deduced. Her face was covered in a thick sheen of sweat and she was trembling as she sat in the middle of the bed. Her eyes snapped towards them when Mrs Hudson made a sound in the back of her throat.

John rushed in, with a gun in hand and she grimaced when he asked gruffly, “What happened?”

“Nightmare.” She whispered hoarsely. “I – I’m sorry.”

Sherlock noticed that she didn’t look at either of them, clearly ashamed for some reason. Clearly, the nightmares were about the attack. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, not knowing how to deal with someone in a situation like this. She seemed vulnerable, so unlike the person he’d come to know in these past months and he didn’t like seeing her like this. Thankfully, their landlady knew exactly what to say.

“Oh, dear. Nothing to be sorry about. Happens with all of us.” Mrs Hudson told Helena softly before adding, “Why don’t I make you a cuppa?” You’ll feel better.”

“No, no. Please, don’t trouble yourself. I’ll be fine.” Helena begged pleadingly, but Mrs Hudson just waved her off and rushed out to make a cuppa.

Helena sighed, pushing her hair out of her face and said lowly, “I’m sorry. Poppy has told me not to take the sleeping draught anymore… and I forgot to put the silencing charm.”

John merely nodded, not knowing what to say. He had suffered from PTSD and had his fair share of nightmares, still did at times, but he did not know how to comfort someone in similar situations.

Even Sherlock was equally quiet beside him when she wiped the sweat that had gathered on her forehead said, “I'm fine. You can go back. Sorry for waking you up.”

John waved her apology off and went back to his room, knowing there was nothing he could do, but Sherlock stayed where he was – frozen.

Mrs Hudson came and gave her a cup of tea, which she was immensely grateful for. The woman left after making sure she was fine and once Helena had finished her tea.

Sherlock was still standing by the door, so Helena mumbled, “It’s alright now. You don’t have to stay.”

“I wasn’t doing anything.” He told her instead.

Which was utter shite. He had been thinking about the last case which was still unsolved. He was still unable to figure out who stole the jewels from the wealthy couple and it was frustrating him to no end.

Unsurprisingly, he was at loss, unsure what social protocol dictated for such kind of situations. Should he bid goodnight and leave? Or should he stay? For a second, he was scared that she might call him out on it. Helena had this bizarre ability where every time he lied, she somehow figured it out. Sherlock wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Was it a friend thing? Were all friends able to tell whenever their friend lied? But John could never tell and accepted whatever shite he was told… so what was different with Helena?

Her eyes met his and he realised that she knew he was lying, but thankfully, didn’t say anything and nodded.

She pulled the covers closer before budging over and patted the bed beside her. “Come. Sit.”

His expressions turned scandalised and he looked at her as if she had asked him to fuck her into her mattress and not merely to sit.

Bewildered, she gawked. “Seriously?”

Shifting uncomfortably, he reasoned, “You just had a nightmare. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable in your own bed.”

Crossing her arms across her chest, she said, “Last time John had a nightmare, you pushed him off the sofa.”

“I did not! He fell.” He glowered.

“I was there and I distinctly remember – the moment he twitched, you pushed him off before rushing to hide behind the couch.” She reminded, glaring at him through narrowed eyes.

Straightening up, he said hotly, “I did no such thing.”

Helena snorted but didn’t say anything else. If he wasn’t comfortable, she wasn’t going to pressure him to sit with her throughout the night. It would be nothing but ‘tedious’ for him. Sighing softly, she said, “Really, I’m feeling loads better now. I’ll just… go back to sleep.”

She indeed was feeling rather tired, so she slid down the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. A few moments passed and there was no other sound than the cracking of fire. She was almost asleep when she heard footsteps, only then realising that he was still in the room.

She kept her eyes closed as Sherlock wordlessly and cautiously made his way over and sat on the edge of the bed. Peeking over to him, she nearly grimaced at the way he had settled himself in the corner – looking petrified and rather red, though she wondered if it was because of the fire or not.

A couple of seconds where she pretended to sleep until he said stiffly, “I know you’re awake.”

Finally, she opened her eyes and smiled at him sheepishly, suddenly feeling better than she had in days. He huffed but didn’t say anything, struggling to make himself comfortable.

“Thank you.” She whispered, gazing up at him.

Sherlock stilled as he looked down at her and gave a stiff nod.

* * *

** Next Morning **

The chill was what woke her up and she frowned. The fire wasn’t burning anymore, but she shouldn’t have been cold. Rather belatedly realising that she wasn’t covered with her blanket anymore. She blinked blearily, only find Sherlock sleeping soundly with his limbs splayed out across the bed, while she was on the edge, curled into a ball. Sometime during the night, he had made himself ‘comfortable’ enough not only to steal her blanket but the bed as well and she couldn’t help herself from snorting.

Somehow, this didn’t surprise her. For all his – _‘sentiment is a chemical defeat’_ nonsense, he was rather soft.

She gazed at him, feeling oddly buoyant. There was no doubt that he was attractive while awake, but in his sleep with all his defences down, he looked even younger… without his ‘cold’ persona. His curly hair was mussed, sticking at odd angles and his skin was a bit rosy because of the warmth. Black lashes rested on his cheeks and he wrinkled his nose. His lips were full and pink, and she barely resisted the urge to kiss him.

Helena knew that despite feeling uneasy, Sherlock had stayed with her throughout the night because she had asked him once. He could’ve left. She had told him as much, but he had stayed, ignoring his own discomfort.

She wasn’t clueless and had been aware of the crush she had developed for quite some time now, but she hadn’t been prepared for the emotions that suddenly hit her, leaving her breathless in their wake and she found herself ill-equipped to know how to deal with them.

With a shaky sigh, she stood up from the bed as quietly as humanly possible and rushed to the bathroom, unwilling for him to see the raw emotions in her eyes… which he no doubt will. It would be best if she kept her emotions under control. She didn’t want to lose Sherlock because she had stupidly decided to fall in love with the man.

* * *

** April 27th **

** 221B  **

Sherlock glared at the woman who had now decided to barge in his flat and taunted, “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Hermione looked confused and asked, “Why?”

“Isn’t that what pregnant woman do?” He asked with a vindictive kind of glee.

“Sherlock…” John sighed.

The woman turned pink, but said, “We can’t rest for nine months. It’ll make us mad.”

Of course, he knew it. So, he scowled at her and asked sourly, “What are you doing here?”

She fiddled with the lapels of her coat and uttered, “Er… I wanted to apologise.”

Taken aback, he asked, “What for?”

“For hitting you the other day. I have no excuse other than…” She stopped and continued just as quietly. “…I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You didn’t deserve it and for that I’m sorry.”

Sherlock shrugged uncomfortably because he was rendered speechless. He could see that she sincerely wanted to apologise for breaking his nose, but he couldn’t understand why? He had suffered worse injuries and no one had ever apologised. Well… Helena had a habit of apologising even if it wasn’t her fault which was truly ridiculous. But no one other than her ever bothered to apologise, no matter what. Did Helena ask her to do it? No. Her words were genuine and she was here of her own free will. Helena didn’t know.

He stared into her brown eyes and asked, “Why would you apologise? You hate me.”

Hermione winced at that, but said earnestly, “I don’t hate you. You bought my parents up and… it’s a sensitive topic.”

“You haven’t dealt with your…” He started.

“Yes!” She held her hand up and stopped him before he could go on further with his deductions. Then, she took a calming breath and added, “I’m working on it.”

Sherlock nodded because he already knew it and asked instead, “Why?”

“Helena… she…” Hermione stumbled across her words before finally shrugging, “She’s my best friend and you’re important to her.”

He nodded. “We’re friends.”

Hermine blinked and opened her mouth to say something, but snapped it shut. She gave him half a smile and mumbled awkwardly, “I’ll just…”

She pointed downwards and turned around to leave when Sherlock said, “Well… I shouldn’t have said that you’re getting fat.”

It made her stop and Hermione turned around to see the man shifting uncomfortably. His hands were behind his back and he looked earnest, suddenly making her realise that it was the man’s version of an apology, so she gave him a small smile and hurried downstairs.

John was left gaping at Sherlock, who was still looking confused as he turned and went back to his work.

* * *

** April 30th **

** 221B **

John glared furiously at the ceiling of his bedroom. It was 3 in the morning and his bloody flatmate was playing his violin – again! Sherlock had taken to playing the blasted thing during the night from the past couple of days and John was at his wit's end. He was going to murder the world’s only consulting detective. Stomping downstairs, he barged into the living room to demand the silence and stop being unreasonably irritating, but he stopped short when his eyes fell on the scene in front of him.

Sherlock was staring out the window, playing a soft melody, while Helena was sleeping on the sofa, covered with Sherlock’s blanket, looking peaceful like he hadn’t seen her in a long time. Maybe not ever.

John wasn’t sure if his flatmate had noticed his presence because he saw Sherlock peeking at the girl from time to time. There was a tender look in his eyes that surprised John. He shook his head and turned around without saying a word.

High functioning sociopath, his ass!

* * *

** May 7th **

** 221B **

She was sitting cross-legged on John’s chair, immersed in the laptop when Sherlock entered the flat. John was working on his laptop and Sherlock’s eyes narrowed at the one Helena was using. No one touched his things! Certainly not his laptop!

Utterly bewildered, he cried out, “That’s mine!”

She didn’t look at him. Unfazed, she mumbled, “Spiffing observation.”

“What are you even doing?” he asked, scowling.

She didn’t reply, so he leaned down over her shoulder to see better and blinked.

 _‘Pornography_ … _She was watching pornography on **his** laptop?!’_

He stood up, stared at John and asked aghast, “You taught her to watch _pornography?”_

John’s head snapped up abruptly and, stunned, he replied, “What? No! No, I didn’t…”

“No, you knucklehead!” Helena snapped, glaring at him like he was an idiot. “Here. Look again.”

Tentatively, he leaned down and stared at the ‘video’ again and his eyes widened. “That is…”

“Yes.” She nodded.

“In the Scotland Yard.” He uttered, perplexed.

Her eyes shined mischievously as she said, “Greg’s office, yes.”

“What?” John asked eagerly as he stared at his two friends. “What is it?”

Helena lifted the laptop and handed it over to John, who gaped for a few seconds before his eyes met hers and he asked surprised, “Anderson and Donovan? How did you manage to get these?”

Even Sherlock seemed incapable of words as he gawked at her openly.

Shifting uncomfortably in the seat, she said, “Err… A bug followed them and recorded everything. I’m going to send it to Anderson’s wife.”

Both Sherlock and John blinked at her as if seeing her for the first time and she defended herself, “What? His wife should know her husband is a pig!”

Sherlock grinned widely and John sighed when she mumbled, “And I don’t like him.”

“You’re scary, you know that?” John said, but Sherlock disagreed and uttered, “Brilliant.”

John resisted the urge to facepalm.

* * *

** May 14th **

** 221 **

_“What is that?!”_ Sherlock sneered.

“A dog,” Helena replied, oblivious to the man’s ire.

“I can see that!” he gritted his teeth and asked, “What is it doing here?”

“It’s a ‘he’ and he followed me home,” Helena informed him cheerfully, smothering the dog with kisses. “Isn’t he cute?”

“A bloodhound. Nearly 5 years old.” Sherlock observed before stating nonchalantly, “You can’t keep him.”

Helena’s head snapped up and she snarled, “And why the hell not?”

Taken aback, he had to blink a couple of times before he answered, “He belongs to someone. A kid possibly.”

“Oh.” She didn’t ask how he knew it, instead slumped with something akin to defeat.

* * *

** May 17th **

** 221C **

For the first time in his life, Sherlock was scared as he knocked at the door tentatively. To say that Helena had become attached to the dog would be an understatement and he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was scared for his life.

As he looked at the teenager wearing black glasses, overweight, one of the best hackers in the world, who was bouncing excitedly on his toes to see ‘Toby’ – his dog again. His mother was waiting in the car outside.

As soon as the door opened, Craig whistled and before Sherlock could tell Helena that the dog belonged to this young man, the dog bounded out and straight into the man, who fell onto the floor to accept Toby’s slobbery kisses.

Sherlock knew she wasn’t stupid and her smile fell as soon as the dog rushed to greet Craig. For a second, she looked ready to cry, but schooled her features within seconds as she kissed the dog on his head, saying goodbye, Sherlock noticed bemused.

 _‘But Toby wasn’t theirs. They couldn’t keep him.’_ He reminded himself, so he wouldn’t end up kidnapping the dog later in the day.

* * *

December 4th, 2020


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sadly, I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock. They belong to their respective authors and writers. This is written for purely entertainment and no money is being made.
> 
> I would like to apologize for any mistakes in advance as I do not have a beta. Please do not copy this story anywhere.

** May 30th **

** 221B **

Now that Helena was on an extended leave, she was once again in 221B, sitting comfortably on John’s red sofa-chair, reading something on Sherlock’s laptop, who had more or less accepted that there wasn’t much he could do about it. He was wearing a dressing gown on top of his shirt and trousers and sipping tea from a mug, while John was sitting on the living room table, updating his blog on his laptop.

“What are you typing?” he asked John, leafing through the newspaper.

“Blog,” John replied without looking up.

“About?” Sherlock inquired.

“Us,” John responded shortly.

“You mean me,” Sherlock stated smugly and Helena rolled her eyes.

John still didn’t look up and asked, “Why?”

Sherlock cleared his throat unnecessarily and said, “Well, you’re typing a lot.”

Now, John looked at Sherlock, raised an eyebrow and said, “I could be writing about Helena. There’s much more that can be written about her than either of us.”

Sherlock glared and opened his mouth to retort when the doorbell rang. “Right then,” Sherlock said and walked towards the door. “So, what have we got?”

Helena thanked the stars that had saved her from being dragged into another nonsensical argument.

* * *

** June 3rd **

** 221B **

John was seated on the chair in front of the study table, Helena was in Sherlock’s sofa-chair, while the detective himself was standing in front of the fireplace.

“My wife seems to be spending a very long time at the office.” The man said, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

“Boring.” Sherlock sang.

* * *

** June 4th **

** 221B **

This time, Helena was sitting on the chair by the study table, while Sherlock and John were in their sofa chairs.

“I think my husband might be having an affair.” The poor woman told Sherlock, who nodded, “Yes.”

John and Helena exchanged wide-eyed looks when the woman burst into tears, startling Sherlock, who just looked confused.

* * *

** June 6th **

** 221C **

Helena was leaning back against the arm of her sofa with one of her legs lying in front of her, while the other was resting on the plush carpet on the floor. She was enjoying the warm weather while listening to the telly in the background when the door opened. She didn’t bother opening her eyes, already knowing there was only one person who barged into her house without knocking and by now, even her magic recognised his aura.

Which was why she didn’t pay attention until he slumped on top of her, making her yelp. Opening her eyes, ready to ask _‘just what the hell was he doing’_ , but her mouth fell open when she saw the state, he was in. From the mused hair, it was clear that he hadn’t slept for at least 2 days now, which wasn’t unusual, but what left her speechless was the simple fact that the man was wrapped in nothing but a sheet. A bedsheet to be precise.

She swallowed harshly and stopped breathing altogether when she felt his lips pressing against her as he buried his face in her stomach. The heat from his body was too much and her heart rate escalated as she tried to remember ‘words or how to speak them’.

Finally, she managed to gasp, “What the hell, Sherlock?!”

“Bored.” Came the muffled voice.

Helena clenched her eyes shut because seriously? What the hell?! She took a shaky breath and willed herself to remain calm, so she wouldn’t end up doing something ‘untoward’. He had never understood the meaning of ‘personal space’. She had been the clingy one when they were kids. As he had been the first and only person who liked her and was her friend, so clinging to him used to provide her with a sense of contentment and happiness she couldn’t explain. But they weren’t 10 anymore and she liked him, so this… a naked Sherlock was making her brain all fuzzy! Now she understood what Molly must feel like, but at least he hadn’t paraded in front of the doctor naked!

Breathing deeply, Helena turned her attention back to the TV, trying to focus on something other than Sherlock’s breath or how his lips felt against the skin of her stomach because she knew Sherlock wouldn’t be able to deal with her feelings. They would be just in the way. He wouldn’t want things to change, but she was almost positive that he might do something just to keep her with him. She didn’t fault him as he never had a friend, not until he met ‘John’. He was stubborn to the boot and pig-headed, and she didn’t want him to be alone again. More importantly and selfishly, she didn’t want to lose her friend again.

She tilted her face back and rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hands.

She had no idea what she was going to do.

* * *

John found them a couple of hours later – both of them asleep, with Sherlock’s head resting on Helena’s stomach, who herself was dozing on the cushion beside her. A light blanket was covering them, but her fingers wound up in Sherlock’s curly hair were clearly visible. And for the first time in his life, John felt envious of the relationship his two friends had.

* * *

** June 9th **

** 221B **

John decided not to say anything, but observe both Sherlock and Helena after that.

At first glance, it didn’t seem like anything momentary had changed between them, but the differences were subtle and right in front of his eyes. The two were so in sync, that he was certain, not even they were aware of the shift that had taken in their ‘relationship’. Though it would be wrong to call it a ‘relationship’, but there was no other word, at least in his dictionary to describe what the two were because ‘friends’ wasn’t one of them. So, he just kept quiet and observed, intent on finding out how long it would take the two idiots to conclude that they ‘weren’t just friends.’

So, here he was, observing, while the two were focused on the client. Sherlock was sitting on his black sofa-chair, while Helena was perched on the armrest of the said-chair. Both her hands were clasped in front of her, resting on her knees; while one of Sherlock’s hand was on the arm of the chair, whereas the other was around Helena like it belonged there. His fingers weren’t even touching her, but they were just there. Intimate in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

Just as he said – subtle. John was positive that it was unconscious on Sherlock’s part.

For a genius, the man was oblivious, but Helena? He wasn’t sure.

“She’s not my real aunt. She’s been replaced. I know she has. I know human ash.” The creepy guy said holding a funeral urn as he stared directly at Helena.

John didn’t miss how she leaned back against Sherlock – again as if on instinct, who glared at the man and pointed to the door. “Leave.”

* * *

** June 12th **

** 221B **

Helena didn’t even look up from Sherlock’s laptop, when the businessman spoke, “We are prepared to offer any sum of money you care to mention for the recovery of these files.”

Sherlock stopped behind her and leaned over her shoulder, more interested to see what she was doing and uttered, “Boring.”

John hid his smirk behind the cup of tea.

* * *

** June 16th **

** 221B **

A young man, a teenager really, was sitting on the diner chair while his two friends were standing behind him.

“We have this website. It explains the true meaning of comic books because people miss a lot of the themes.”

Disinterested, Sherlock took a step to leave, but Helena waved a hand, unbothered and asked, “Yes, tell me, honey.”

The boy turned pink and said hurriedly, “But then all of the comic books started coming true.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up and he turned back. “Oh. Interesting.”

* * *

** June 24th **

** Scotland Yard **

It turned out that Helena had printed the pictures and sent copies to both the parties – anonymously, of course, and had given them a warning that she would be sending them to Mrs Anderson.

Greg had called Sherlock for a case and as usual, Sherlock had dragged Helena along. Unsurprisingly, Anderson and Sally were fighting… and not so privately.

John shuddered when he saw his two friends exchanging a mischievous smile. Yes, he was just glad that they didn’t hate him… especially Helena. And if he saw Sherlock scowling at Greg because Helena laughed at something he said, he tried to ignore it for now. It wasn’t his place to interfere.

* * *

** July 1st **

Sherlock heard voices and rushed downstairs, already knowing who he was going to find. As always, he barged in 221C to see Helena’s son, Teddy, standing beside her while she was cooking something in the kitchen. He was telling her something animatedly and she was laughing.

The other noticeable thing was the brown coloured owl perched on the backrest of the sofa. The bird eyed him with its big yellow eyes before hooting loudly.

Helena and Teddy turned in unison and ignoring him, Teddy spoke to the bird, “Yes, yes! I know you’re hungry, Fresco. Would you give me a minute?”

For a moment, Sherlock was stunned by their similar appearance. The child looked just like Helena – black hair, green eyes and same features that it was eerie. He wasn’t exactly related to her by blood, so how could he inherit her traits? Magic maybe? He was still trying to deduce, when Helena introduced proudly, “Sherlock. Meet Teddy, my son.”

“It’s Edward.” The child mumbled grumpily.

“Of course.” Helena humoured the child and amended, “Edward, meet Sherlock. He lives in the flat upstairs with John.”

Teddy narrowed his eyes at Sherlock behind Helena’s back, who glared right back.

She turned to him and asked, “Would you like some breakfast?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to tell her that ‘no’, breakfast was ‘boring’, but changed his mind at the last moment. He would be able to observe the kid better and faster is he had a reason to say, and said, “Yes.”

With a nod, she turned back to the bacon and flipped it. Focused on the cooking, she didn’t notice how the two ‘children’ scowled, seizing each other up behind her back.

* * *

They were just done with breakfast or in Sherlock’s case, a single toast with bacon and tea when Mrs Hudson knocked on the door. “Yoo-hoo!”

She walked in with a plate in hand and gushed at Teddy. “Look at you. Such a handsome boy!”

Teddy looked at her shyly and thankfully accepted biscuits from the plate offered; while Sherlock’s scowl deepened when Mrs Hudson didn’t offer him some, despite knowing that they were his favourite! Sherlock stood up with an angry huff, startling them all and in a swirl of his dramatic coat, marched up to his flat.

“Oh, dear!” Mrs Hudson looked perplexed before musing, “Must be a case.”

Helena just rolled her eyes at the dramatics.

* * *

** July 4th **

** 221B **

John was updating his blog while Sherlock was experimenting with something when suddenly, out of nowhere, the lights went out. They looked around, frowning when they noticed that no one else apart from them seem to be having a ‘blackout’.

Despite the darkness, John turned towards Sherlock and asked, “Did you pay the bill?”

“Of course, I did!” Sherlock replied, insulted that John would think that **he** could forget something so tedious.

Before John could reply, the power was back on, but both the occupants froze when they saw Sherlock’s violin floating mid-air and playing a melody neither had heard before all by itself.

“What?” John watched wide-eyed. “Is Helena doing this?”

Sherlock blinked at his violin, his lips turned downwards and jumped towards it, only for it to fly away and out of his reach. A couple of moments later, after realising that he won’t be successful in this tug-of-war with his violin, he turned around and marched downstairs with John hot on his heels.

They both stopped short when both Helena and Teddy looked up at them from where they were watching TV from the comfort of their sofa.

“What happened?” Helena asked confused, but Sherlock was glowering at the boy, who stared back at him innocently.

He didn’t reply and whirled around, marching back to his flat, where his violin was now lying in the box.

Helena looked at John questioningly, who had no idea how to explain what had happened, he uttered, “Er… Sherlock just had a row with his violin.”

She stared at him aghast and asked, “What…?”

“You didn’t do any… magic, did you?” John asked, just to be sure.

“No! I haven’t even been to your flat today.” She told him indignantly, frowning and looked down at Teddy, who was busy watching the telly.

* * *

** July 6th **

** 221B **

Both Helena and John were truly surprised to see Sherlock’s new _clients_. Two little girls, one Teddy’s age and the other younger. Teddy was curious as this was his first proper encounter with muggles his age and followed Helena up to 221B and sat on the sofa, albeit reluctantly. Helena stood by the door; John was in his chair; Sherlock, as usual, was pacing, while the two little girls sat together in one of the dining chairs.

“They wouldn’t let us see Granddad when he was dead. Is that ‘cos he’d gone to heaven?” The little girl asked Sherlock.

“People don’t really go to heaven when they die. They’re taken to a special room and burned.” The great detective spoke, making the two girls share a distressed look.

“Sherlock…” John said reprovingly and Helena shook her head.

“Unless they become a ghost,” Teddy added thoughtfully.

“Teddy!” Helena cried out.

The girls look ready to cry, but Sherlock looked at Teddy questionably and nearly scoffed, “Ghosts?”

“Yes. Hogwarts had many.” Teddy told him proudly, even though he looked ready to bolt out of the room at the look Helena was throwing him.

Sherlock’s eyes shined and he demanded enthusiastically, “Tell me more!”

John looked at Helena with a sigh, who turned to Teddy and said, “You… answer all his questions.”

“But mum!” Teddy spluttered, wide-eyed.

“Nope. Don’t even try. I know you did that on purpose.” She told him strictly before turning towards the two girls and said with a smile, “Why don’t we go downstairs? Would you care for some chocolate cookies?”

“With milk?” the little girl asked, fear forgotten.

“Of course, with milk,” Helena replied before taking the girls to her flat, ignoring the rapid-fire round Sherlock threw at Teddy. The kid had it coming.

* * *

** July 7th **

** 221B **

This time, Sherlock’s Petri dishes were floating in the kitchen and John noticed that the detective looked like he might cry or maybe have a fit.

* * *

** July 8th **

** 221B **

John nearly had a heart attack when he entered the living room and for the first time, it wasn’t because of his flatmate. Like him, Sherlock too was frozen with shock as the two of them stared at the pearly-white and slightly transparent… thing floating in front of them.

 _‘Ghost’_ , John’s mind supplied belatedly.

Swiftly, the ghost seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Then, he flew towards the two of them with a loud scream.

John fell back with a scream of his own, while Sherlock observed it with horrified fascination. Looking pleased with the petrified faces, the ghost flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed.

“Who are you?” Sherlock asked abruptly as if it was one of their clients and not a – a ghost!

Now, he knew that ghosts existed, thanks to Helena and Teddy, but seeing one of them in their flat was a bit too much. Unexpectedly, John had a strange urge to laugh hysterically.

“Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service.” The ghost… replied courteously?

“You were a knight.” Sherlock deduced.

“A courtier at King Henry VII's royal court.” The ghost replied sadly.

John suddenly noticed that the ghost was wearing a pair of breeches with an extravagantly plumed hat. He was sporting long curly hair and had a small moustache along with a goatee. What he hadn’t been expecting was Helena to appear in their flat out of thin air, startling him badly.

He didn’t think he would ever get used to people popping out of thin air!

As soon as she appeared, the ghost floated towards her and said delicately, “Helena.”

“Sir Nicholas.” Helena greeted back, clearly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

John noticed the ghost looked shifty and uncomfortable before he told her excitedly, “My application was accepted by Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore!”

“Oh. Congratulations.” She smiled.

Sherlock stared between the two, while John wasn’t so calm and nearly shouted, “Wh – what the hell?!”

She shifted uncomfortably but finally said, “Er… this is Sir Nicholas. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower. He’s a friend.”

“A friend,” John repeated numbly, not noticing how Helena stared at the empty space beside the table with her arms crossed across her chest, while Sherlock looked triumph.

“Oh no, you don’t!” She muttered and caught something… or someone neither John nor Sherlock could see out of thin air.

A head full of blue hair appeared mid-air making both Sherlock and John freeze further. A head – just the head of a boy neither recognised suspended in mid-air, while his body was completely invisible.

“Edward Remus Lupin!” Helena hissed angrily. “You’re not allowed to do magic out of school! And scaring muggles?!”

The boy had the decency to look abashed and his hair fluctuated from blue to green to red. His eyes were hazel and not green and his features looked nothing like Helena’s, which was why both John and Sherlock stayed frozen where they were.

“Sorry, mum.” The boy replied sheepishly, not sounding sorry at all.

Before Helena could admonish the boy, Sherlock jumped in front of the ghost and said hurriedly, “Wait! Where are you going? Why don’t you have a seat? We can talk. Would you care for some tea?”

Surprise filtered across Sir Nicholas’s face before he composed himself and said wistfully, “I haven't eaten for five hundred years. And I’m afraid I can’t, for I have to join the Headless Hunt, but I would like to talk to a muggle. Haven’t done that since I died.”

With that, he bowed and vanished completely, much to Sherlock’s dismay.

There was silence for a couple of seconds and surprisingly, John was the first one to find his voice and he asked, “He’s Teddy?”

“What?” Helena turned to him before realising that yes, they knew nothing about Teddy and said, “Yes. Teddy is a Metamorphmagus. A witch or wizard born the rare ability to change their physical appearance at will, without the need of any Potion or a spell, like most of the wizarding population. He inherited it from his mother.”

“Oh.” John nodded as if it was completely normal for a child to change his appearance at will.

Sherlock though was staring at Teddy with awe and mumbled, “Fascinating. Can you clone yourself like me?”

It must have startled the boy because he looked at Sherlock sourly before turning his still floating head back to his mum, who held her hand out and raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock noticed how the boy’s eyes turned green from hazel within a matter of seconds before they widened. His lower lip trembled as he stared at Helena and his eyes shined brightly. Sherlock had to say that he was impressed because he himself had perfected the look long ago, not that he would say it out loud.

“Mum, please,” Teddy said in a trembling voice.

“No! You know the rules.” Helena didn’t deter and said, “If you behave yourself, you’ll get the cloak before you go back to Hogwarts.”

“But that’s two months away!” Teddy cried out.

“It will teach you not to use magic in front of muggles. I’ve told you it could be dangerous.” She told him sternly.

Teddy’s shoulders hunched before he pulled a fluid and silvery grey cloth off him and reluctantly, handed it to her.

The other two occupants stared at the cloth before looking at the boy’s hair, which had now turned pale white as he stared at the cloak longingly. Sherlock’s eyes gleamed and he jumped in front of Helena and flashed his smile.

“Where can I get it? I want one.” He demanded.

Before Helena could reply, Teddy glowered at him and stated hotly, “You can’t! Death only made one! And it’s mine!”

Sherlock stilled at his words, John gaped, while Helena cried, “TEDDY!”

“Sorry!” Wide-eyed, the kid squeaked out hastily, belatedly realising what he had said before rushing down to his room.

She turned to see John, who was gaping, while Sherlock muttered stonily, “Explain!”

Sighing, she said, “Come on. I have the book – it's just a children’s tale, though. You can read it yourself.”

Sherlock stared at her, looking for signs of trickery because he wasn’t going to be fooled again. He didn’t want to waste another moment to chase a book around to find out more about the cloak. He followed her to her flat, noticing that the kid was hiding in his room. He took the book cautiously, relieved to see that it didn’t try to eat him.

John, who was standing beside him couldn’t hold anymore and asked curiously, “When you say ‘death’…”

“Real.” Helena replied before adding tiredly, “The Tale of the Three Brothers. That’s the one you want to read.”

Sherlock looked down at the book – ‘Tales of Beedle the Bard.’ He didn’t bother replying, just nodded and went back to his flat, already immersed in the book.

* * *

** July 9th **

** 221C **

It was 7 and Teddy wasn’t going to wake for another hour or so. She needed to plan what the two of them could do before he went back to Hogwarts. A movie, perhaps? Yawning, she walked towards the kitchen to make some tea when she noticed Sherlock sitting in her backyard. It was evident how accustomed she had become to him randomly appearing in her house that she merely shook her head and asked, “Tea?”

“What? Oh, yes please.” He responded distractedly.

At this, she looked at him. He was dressed as immaculate as ever in his suit, fingers crossed in front of his face – so deep in thought, but what stopped her short was the book sitting on the table in front of him. Knowing him, he probably had already thought out what took the three of them more than a year to figure.

She headed to the kitchen before going through the automatic motions of making tea. Once done, the cup floated towards Sherlock, who didn’t even bat an eyelash and took the cup from mid-air.

Helena was just waiting for him to bombard her with the questions about Death or the Hallows, which was why she was fairly surprised when she heard his statement.

“You were hit with the killing curse – twice.” He sipped his tea and said as if they were discussing the weather.

“Yes.”

He nodded as if he had expected it all along and asked, “You told me that the last Horcrux was destroyed on the day of the final war, but you never said what it was.”

Helena looked straight into his eyes and said in a whisper, “I didn’t.”

“You were the eighth Horcrux.” He observed and leaned forward unconsciously. “How?”

She kept her cup on the table and took a deep breath. It was too bloody early in the morning, but the way his eyes were fixated on her, she knew he wouldn’t let it go, so she tried to explain as best as she could.

“I – uh… when I encountered a dementor the first time, I heard a woman’s scream. The second time, I heard Riddle’s voice. He wanted to kill me and offered my mum the chance to step aside, but she refused… begged him to kill her instead.” Another deep breath and she added, “There was one thing Riddle never understood – love. He didn’t realise that love can be more powerful than any curse. When my mum sacrificed herself to save me, it left the most powerful protection behind… Its ancient magic. A love so deep, even though the person who loved us is gone, leave the protection forever. So, when **he** turned his wand on me, the curse rebounded and a piece of his soul latched onto the only living thing around.”

“Forever?” he asked dubiously.

Helena nodded. “Hermione thinks that the protection flows in my veins even to this day. That’s why when Riddle’s killing curse hit me in the forest for the second time, it only destroyed the piece of his soul that resided inside me. That’s how I survived it.”

“Ancient magic.” Sherlock mused, staring at her unblinkingly for a long time before stating, “You had all three Hallows when you faced Voldemort before the final battle.”

She nodded again because obviously, he would’ve gathered that from the bits he knew.

“But you do not have them anymore.” It was a statement.

 _‘Rather disconcerting how good he was’_ , Helena thought before saying, “No, no. Just the Cloak. It was my dad’s. All three together would’ve been too powerful. In the hands of someone…” She shook her head and added, “They weren’t mine to keep anyway.”

He studied her another excruciatingly long period of time and deduced, “You destroyed the Wand and the Stone.”

“I – uh… yes,” Helena said and held her hand up to stop him from asking another question. He already knew, so what more harm could the books do? It would at least save her from a further round of thousand questions. With a sigh, she asked, “Would you like to read the books instead?”

He straightened up and asked incredulously, “The books?”

“My friend Luna wrote a series of books. They’re the most accurate ones you’ll find out there.” She told him offhandedly and waved her wand in the direction of her bookshelf. A set of seven books flew and settled themselves on the table in front of Sherlock.

“The books!” This time, he downright glared at her as if saying – _‘You had the books all along and you didn’t bother mentioning them first? How much of an imbecile can you be?’_

“It’s not like I hid them! They’ve been in the living room ever since I moved!” She replied.

He peered closely at them and cursed under his breath before stating loudly, “I thought they were Teddy’s!”

He didn’t wait for her reply, instead picked the bundle easily and rushed up to his flat. Helena shook her head at how strange her life had become.

* * *

** July 10th **

** 221C **

Sherlock burst into her flat with a whirl of a green nightgown and shouted indignantly, “No! No! No!!! How much of an idiot can you be?!”

“Hello to you too.” Helena chirped, ignoring his question altogether.

“It was Quirrell all along! How can you not know?! It’s so obvious!” He bemoaned as if she had harmed him personally.

“Of course, it was.” She mumbled under her breath, while Teddy scowled.

“Everyone in that stupid school of yours is stupid!” He said dramatically. “Everyone, but Dumbledore. He obviously knew that Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort which was why he moved Quirrell to Defense Against the Dark Arts to remove him by the end of the year. He knew you couldn’t get hurt because of your mother’s protection, so he subtly put everything in place for you and Quirrell to meet underneath the school, and for you to get a shot at defeating Voldemort. Such a clever-clever man!”

When he turned to look at Helena, two identical scowls were aimed at him and puzzled, he asked, “What?”

“In case you missed it, I was 11.” She told him primly.

“I would’ve known.” He mumbled under his breath before flouncing back upstairs.

* * *

** A Couple of Hours Later **

** 221C **

Helena and Teddy were having dinner when once again, Sherlock rushed into her flat and asked as soon as he saw her, “How do I get a house-elf?”

“You cannot get a house-elf.” She told him simply.

“Why not?!” He asked outraged, looking ready to stomp his feet.

It was Teddy who answered a bit smugly, “‘Cos the only way to get a house-elf is to inherit one. Usually, they belong to a wizarding family and serve them for generations.”

She saw him sulking before it happened as Sherlock glared at her before stomping out and Teddy grinned. Helena really needed to find out why the hell her kid hated Sherlock from the first day itself.

* * *

** July 11th **

** 221C **

“Now, I need you to listen carefully.” The man said before adding, “It is very important.”

Helena didn’t even look up from the paper and replied, “No.”

“No?” Affronted, Sherlock stood up to his full height and stated, “You don’t even know…”

Before he could finish, she spoke, “I’m not getting you a time-turner just so you can go back and conduct experiments on yourself.”

If he was surprised by her ‘deduction’, he didn’t show it. Instead, he did something he would never admit out loud. The great Sherlock Holmes whined, “That’s not what I had in mind!”

“You want to prank Mycroft.” She observed before nodding decisively to herself. “No.”

Sherlock didn’t bother denying, but the look he threw her way promised revenge and she rolled her eyes, already dreading what he might deduce or ask when the read the other books, but to her surprise, he never did.

* * *

** July 14th **

** Barts **

Will and Fleur had taken Teddy along with other children for a day out and Sherlock had somehow managed to drag her to the morgue at Bart's – again and was looking down at the woman’s dead body lying on the table with his magnifier. John was standing at the other side of the table with Greg beside him, while Helena was standing by the door, feeling all sorts of awkward with him nearby. Despite him being one of the sweetest men she had ever met, she had broken up with him after realising that he was Sherlock’s colleague first and with his possessive tendencies, it wouldn’t turn out to be good. Greg had been understanding, they had only been on three dates after all, but she was still feeling guilty for leading someone as nice as Greg on.

Sherlock didn’t look up from the body and asked John, “Do people actually read your blog?”

“Where do you think our clients come from?” John asked back.

“I have a website.” Sherlock stated, to which John replied, “In which you enumerate two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash. Nobody is reading your website.”

Sherlock straightened up and said with a glare, “Helena reads it.”

“Yes, because she’s too nice. Nobody but Helena is reading your website.” John said while inspecting the body, not noticing the way Sherlock pouted and continued, “Right then – dyed blonde hair; no obvious cause of death except for these speckles, whatever they are.”

He looked up in time to see Sherlock walking out of the room. Both John and Greg looked at Helena, who shrugged, because what else had he expected?

* * *

** July 18th **

** 221B **

Sherlock was sitting on the couch, typing something furiously on his laptop, while John was reading a book when she entered their flat and asked, “Teddy went to sleep. I just made tea. Would you care for some?”

“Tea would be lovely. Thank you.” Sherlock replied without taking his eyes off the screen.

She walked in and John had to blink at the teapot and cups floating behind her. He watched amazed as the tea poured itself in three cups before one flew and settled itself on the table in front of Sherlock, while the other kept floating mid-air in front of him.

“And you say I’m the show-off?” Sherlock muttered at the display.

“I’m a witch. Get used to it.” She shrugged nonchalantly as she walked over to the couch and sat beside Sherlock.

John took the cup, still mystified by the magic and nodded his thanks. He was immersed in his book and was sipping his tea peacefully, which was why it took him quite a few minutes to notice what was happening right in front of him – not so subtly, mind you.

Sherlock was undoubtedly explaining something to her quite enthusiastically, which John ignored as usual, while Helena was staring at the screen, pointing something out from time to time. It was a common occurrence.

What caught his attention was the fact that Sherlock’s hand was resting on Helena’s neck. John cocked his head to get a better look and noticed that the fingers of Sherlock’s hand were curled where her neck met her shoulder, almost possessively, but his thumb was softly rubbing the back of her neck, just below her hairline – cervical vertebrae, his brain supplied. Unsurprisingly, he was navigating the keys with his other hand easily.

Even more fascinating was that neither of the two seemed aware of the intimate touch… or maybe they were not willing to acknowledge it? John wasn’t sure and he had to blink a few times just to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming.

And… nope!

They were still sitting close… to the point where Sherlock was almost leaning on top of her and for a second, John wondered how was she holding the man’s weight? Sherlock was lean but very heavy.

Sherlock did not understand the meaning of personal space, but he never allowed anyone to touch him. He never showed any kind of affection towards another human being. It wasn’t in his programming! But here he was – touching someone rather intimately.

John wanted to jump and scream ‘AHAA’ as they did in those movies, but he knew that it wouldn’t get him anywhere and would most possibly earn a grump Sherlock… which would probably last days on end.

No. He was going to stay quiet and not stay a word.

His expressions must have been… not so subtle because suddenly Helena looked at him and asked with a frown, “Are you alright?”

Even Sherlock looked up, making him shift uneasily in his chair as he said, “Yes. Just thinking.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but Sherlock pulled her right back to the screen.

 _‘That was another thing.’_ John thought.

Every time she focused on something which was not ‘Sherlock’ or was unrelated in any way, the detective tended to turn sour every single time… and John wondered how Sherlock was dealing with the fact that he had to ‘share’ Helena with Teddy. What amused him, even more, was that the two still hadn’t moved from their positions as they went back to doing… whatever is it was that they were doing.

* * *

** July 22nd **

** 221B **

“Are you sure?” Helena asked anxiously.

Sherlock was in his kitchen, experimenting and didn’t bother answering, but John nodded. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. There’s food in the microwave. Greyback is getting 'the kiss' today. Neville and I need to be there. I tried…” She started again.

“Helena,” John said for the hundredth time, unwilling to listen how dementors suck someone’s soul out of their mouths and that’s how her government punished culprits.

“Yeah. Alright. You still have the galleon, don’t you? Use it and I’ll be here…” And again.

“Helena!” John said loudly, making her jump and added softly, “We’ll be fine. It’s just a couple of hours.”

She still looked reluctant to leave Teddy, even if it was for a couple of hours. She just needed to give testimony in Wizengamot. She would’ve felt better if Mrs Hudson had been here, but the woman had gone to her sister’s house. She kissed Teddy’s forehead before leaving.

* * *

About half an hour later, Sherlock’s phone chimed and he jumped to pick it up. He looked down at his phone and announced excitedly, “Case! A plane crash!”

John looked from the detective to Teddy and said, “Er… Sherlock?”

Sherlock clearly didn’t hear him as he rushed to grab his coat and scarf before calling, “Come on, John.”

“Sherlock!”

Now, he turned and asked irritated, “What?”

“We promised to take care of Teddy until Helena comes back. We cannot just leave him alone!” John reminded him tiredly, when much to their surprise, Teddy turned towards Sherlock and spoke, “Mum said that you’re a detective.”

“Yup,” Sherlock replied impatiently.

Curious, Teddy asked, “And you’re going to solve a case?”

“Yup.”

Teddy looked dubious, but inquired, “Murder?”

“Yup.”

He straightened up and requested eagerly, “Can I come?”

“No!” John said at the same time Sherlock nodded, “Yes.”

Teddy ignored John and beamed at Sherlock. “Cool!”

John turned to Sherlock and snapped, “No! No. We’re not taking him to a crime scene. He’s a kid!”

“I’m not a kid! I’m 12!” Teddy scowled at him and Sherlock nodded again before saying, “We’ll still be taking care of him on the way. It’s not dangerous. Just a dead body, John!”

John hung his head.

* * *

** Some Open Ground **

“That’s a kid.” Lestrade gaped.

Teddy narrowed his eyes at being called a ‘kid’, while Sherlock rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, “Brilliant observation.”

“Is that… Teddy? Helena’s kid!?” Lestrade gaped some more as he stared at Teddy before looking up at John and asked, “What is he doing here?”

“Helena had to go to work, so she left him with us.” John supplied before Sherlock could come up with another remark.

Lestrade sighed, clear disapproval shining in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything and lead them towards a car and said, “There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday. Everyone dead.”

Teddy was walking beside John, while Sherlock was a step ahead.

“Suspected terrorist bomb. We do watch the news.” Sherlock replied.

“You said, ‘boring,’ and turned over,” John said but was ignored.

They were led to a car which has its boot open. There was a body inside and Teddy stared wide-eyed, much to John’s chagrin.

“Well, according to the flight details, this man was checked in on board. Inside his coat, he’s got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the flight, even one of those special biscuits. Here’s his passport stamped in Berlin Airport. So, this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday but instead, he’s in a car boot in Southwark.”

Sherlock looked all around the car before kneeling and checking the body

“Lucky escape,” John muttered.

“Any ideas?” Lestrade asked Sherlock, who was examining the man’s hand with his magnifier.

“Eight, so far.” The detective replied before looking at the body again and frowned momentarily before correcting himself, “Okay, four ideas.”

He turned to Lestrade to look at the passport and the ticket stub of the passenger named – John Coniston.

Straightening up, he gazed up at the sky just as the shadow of a passenger jet passes overhead and says, “Maybe two ideas.”

* * *

** 221B **

Once they were back at the house, Teddy looked at Sherlock and said, “That was soo cool!”

His eyes were filled with awe and John couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes when Sherlock nearly puffed with pride before a thoughtful expression crossed his face as he looked down at the kid and mused, “Maybe we shouldn’t tell your mother.”

At this, Teddy frowned, “Why?”

“I don’t know. People are stupid like that.” Sherlock shrugged and John raised his eyes heavenward.

Now the kid looked dubious and asked Sherlock slowly, “Are you scared of my mum?”

“Of course, not!” Sherlock scoffed unconvincingly.

Teddy didn’t look convinced. Neither did John, who was smirking openly, making Sherlock glare at him.

* * *

** July 29th **

He eyed the boy through the corner of his eyes. Teddy was shifting uncomfortably, but Sherlock kept his focus on the experiment.

It was John who asked, “Teddy? Everything alright?”

“Yes.” The boy nodded, looking wide-eyed and asked tentatively, “Are you busy?”

Sherlock’s ears perked up, even though he kept his head down and gave no indication that he was listening.

“No.” John shook his head, feeling confused.

Teddy brightened minutely and said, “It’s mummy’s birthday and I don’t know what to get.”

“It’s Helena’s birthday?” John asked surprised. “When?”

Even Sherlock hadn’t known that and he tilted his head to listen better. The names, dates and places have been changed in the books. Clever really, if a bit inconvenient. 

“On 31st.” The boy turned his wide eyes, which were an eerie shade of amber today, on John and bounced on his feet as he asked, “Will you go with me to the market? Please?”

John looked at Sherlock, who hurriedly turned his head back to his work. John sighed and looked back at the kid, who looked far too excited by the prospect of buying something for his mother’s birthday and he didn’t have the heart to say no. So, he stood up and replied awkwardly, “Er… sure. Let’s go.”

Teddy jumped enthusiastically and rushed to hug him, making John laugh.

* * *

** July 31st **

As soon as he finished playing the song on his violin, Teddy, John and Mrs Hudson shouted way too ardently for Sherlock’s liking.

HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYY……!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sherlock rolled his eyes from his corner. Helena was turning 30, not 3 for God’s sake!

The cake looked like it had been trampled by a herd of sheep, but Helena made an exaggerated show of enjoying the cake, baked by Teddy under Mrs Hudson and John’s supervision. He eyed the piece handed to him by John warily and took a tentative bite, just because he knew the kid was eyeing everyone for their reactions, else he would’ve thrown it out the window and was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t as bad as he had expected. After finishing off the piece, he looked at his watch and sighed with frustration.

Sounding bored, he asked, “Are you all done? Can we go?”

Helena looked at him surprised and asked, “Go where?”

“Dinner.” He replied, irritated.

“I didn’t know we were going out.” She said, even though that certainly explained his coat and scarf.

“Obviously, we are.” Sherlock huffed before ordering, “Now, hurry.”

John shook his head and Helena rolled her eyes.

* * *

** Angelo’s **

The environment was warm and peaceful as usual. As soon as the five of them walked in, Angelo swooped up to them and greeted them extravagantly, beaming down at Teddy before gesturing towards the table and said, “Your usual.”

“Thank you,” Helena said, seeing as Sherlock wasn’t going to say anything and steered Teddy to the table.

Sherlock sat by the window with Teddy and the others took the chairs on the opposite side of the table. They were skimming through the menu when Angelo came bustling back with four glasses and a bottle of Champagne. Putting them on the table, he said jovially, “Champagne. On the house. For Miss Potter’s birthday.”

“Oh, no. It's not…” Helena started, partly shocked that the man remembered her birthday.

“Of course, it is. It’s a special day!” Angelo cheered, unbothered by the looks thrown his way and continued, “Do you know it celebrated in the Three Broomsticks and the Leaky?”

“Oh. I – didn’t know that.” She uttered quietly, looking truly perplexed.

Mrs Hudson looked confused, while John, Sherlock and even Teddy were surprised. When no one said anything, Angelo left with their orders.

“The Three Broomsticks and the Leaky?” Asked John.

“Pubs, both of them. The Leaky Cauldron and the Three Broomsticks.” She told them shortly.

“Wired names, aren’t they?” Mrs Hudson mused before commenting offhandedly, “As if picked from a fictional novel or a movie.”

Sherlock hid his smirk behind his glass of champagne, while Helena nodded uncomfortably, “Er… yes.”

Angelo brought the food. _Perfect timing,_ Helena thought, as they had lapsed into silence. Even though they were preoccupied with their meals, the conversation flowed easily. They exchanged stories and Sherlock threw in sarcastic comments from time to time. All in all, it turned out to be a pretty nice day.

Once done, Sherlock hailed a cab that took them back home. As soon as they entered 221, Mrs Hudson told them that she was knackered, kissed both Helena and Teddy on their cheeks and went to her flat. Teddy rushed back to their flat. John wished her once more, hugging her by his own accord and went to sleep.

Helena too opened her mouth to thank Sherlock for playing the violin. He used to play when she had nightmares after being attacked and had found out that the music played by him, made her sleep peacefully. But he had bought his violin to her flat and had played specially for her. It had been beautiful… just like the man himself, but she couldn’t very well tell him that. He would possibly kick her out of her own apartment or worse – look at her with the same pity she felt for Molly… and now herself.

She stopped her train of thoughts when she saw his face. He was frowning as he stood in front of her unmoving, looking lost in his thoughts.

“Sherlock?” she called, curiously.

The man blinked as if he had forgotten she was standing right in front of him. He straightened and took two steps towards her, almost closing the distance between them. Helena froze when he leaned in and pecked her on the cheek, closer to her lips than a customary kiss should be.

“Happy Birthday, Helena.” He said softly. Then, he took a step back and nodded at her before flouncing back to his flat.

Helena, meanwhile, was still frozen. She wanted to figure out if she had been dreaming, she wanted to speak or maybe have some thoughts, but her mind was utterly blank. She was still in a daze when Teddy called her a couple of minutes later. Because what in Merlin’s name had happened?!

* * *

** August 3rd **

** 221B **

Sherlock eyed the kid out of the corner of his eyes even as he focused on his experiment. John was out, Helena was downstairs and he didn’t know what to do with the kid. Staying quiet seemed like a good idea though… until the kid stood directly in front of him and spoke, “Is this a liver?”

“Yes.”

“Human?”

“Yes.”

“Are you making a potion?”

With a sigh, Sherlock replied, “Nope. It’s for an experiment.”

Teddy looked at the liver and them to him and asked curiously, “What kind of experiment?”

Finally, Sherlock peered up at the boy intrigued and asked, “Would you like to see?”

“Yes!” The kid nearly bounced in his excitement.

* * *

** August 5th **

** 221B **

Helena entered the kitchen to find Teddy sitting beside Teddy and looking into the microscope. He pointed towards something to which Sherlock replied exaggeratedly.

_And was that a – liver?_

She had been surprised to see this sudden… change in Teddy. Now, he wanted to become a scientist – a magical one at that. At least they weren’t doing anything dangerous. She hid her smile when none of them paid her any mind, just nodded their heads simultaneously when she asked if they wanted tea or milk, in Teddy's case.

* * *

** August 9th **

** 221B **

Sherlock was wearing heavy protective gloves and safety glasses as he carried a blowtorch in one hand and a glass container of green liquid in the other. Teddy had started following him like a lost puppy, much to Helena’s surprise and she hadn’t even known her son was interested in science!

Sherlock came to the living room table and looked over John’s shoulder, where the man was updating his latest blog entry – ‘Sherlock Holmes baffled’.

“No, no, no, don’t mention the unsolved ones,” Sherlock said indignantly.

“It will tarnish his reputation,” Teddy informed John seriously and Sherlock nodded his approval.

“People want to know he’s human,” John told Teddy with a shrug, even though it was meant for Sherlock.

Confused, Teddy asked, “Why?”

“Because they’re interested,” John replied, looking back at the screen.

“No, they’re not. Why are they?” Sherlock scoffed.

“Look at that.” John smiled as he showed the hits on his blog post and said, “One thousand, eight hundred and ninety-five.”

Sherlock finally removed his glasses and asked with disbelief, “Sorry, what?”

“I re-set that counter last night. This blog has had nearly two thousand hits in the last eight hours. This is your living, Sherlock – not two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash.” John told Sherlock as he went back to typing, ignoring the glare he received from the detective.

“Two hundred and forty-three,” Sherlock told Teddy sulkily as he fired up the blowtorch and put his safety glasses back on before heading back towards the kitchen.

Teddy too, threw a glare John’s way as if saying – _‘look what you’ve done’_ and followed Sherlock like a baby duckling.

John shook his head.

* * *

** August 12th **

** 221C **

Teddy burst into the flat, looking just as excited as the day he had received his ‘letter’ and rambled energetically, “Sherlock’s going to the hospital to conduct an experiment. Can I go with him? Please?!”

Helena gaped at her kid, who was bouncing on his feet excitedly, eyed wide staring at her and for a moment she did just that – gape.

She was bought out of her trance when he whined pathetically, “Mum!”

“I don’t think Sherlock would like that, honey.” She told him slowly. “He likes it to be quiet.”

“I don’t mind.” Came the voice and she looked up at Sherlock, frowning… because what in Merlin’s name was going on?!

“Yes. I can be quiet,” Teddy announced earnestly and beamed up at Sherlock, who smiled at her innocently.

She couldn’t help but ask suspiciously, “It’s not anything dangerous, is it?”

Sherlock looked thoroughly insulted as if her being worried wasn’t valid and stated, “Of course, it isn’t!”

“I’ll stay with him. Mum, please!” Teddy begged and Helena found herself nodding reluctantly.

“Oh, alright.” She told them, still feeling like she’d been hit with ‘confundus’.

* * *

** Barts **

Molly stopped short and had to blink twice when her eyes fell on the child looking through the microscope. Sherlock was standing by his shoulder and informed him something, at which the child nodded.

“Hello,” Molly said, clearly puzzled by the scene in front of her.

Sherlock didn’t look at her, but gave a single nod before switching the slides he was showing to the kid, who looked up and said with a beaming smile, “Hello.”

It took her a moment to get her bearings together. Molly looked between the two confused and asked tentatively, “I didn’t know you had a… younger brother?”

“What?” Sherlock looked up finally and opened his mouth to fire an insult when his eyes fell on Teddy and he blinked, taken aback by the change in his appearance. Teddy looked exactly like him… or his younger version and he arched an eyebrow, at which the child shrugged and went back to his microscope.

“Oh, he’s not my brother. He’s Helena’s son.” Sherlock informed her offhandedly, not paying attention.

Befuddled, she had no idea how to respond until the words fell out of her mouth, “But he looks just like you.”

Sherlock looked at her from the corner of his eyes and stated simply, “Yes, he does.”

Molly knew it was the end of it, and she didn’t want Sherlock to witness her misery first hand, so she turned around and left the lab without another word.

* * *

** August 18th **

** 221B **

Sherlock was grinning like a madman, prowling throughout the living room, stopping to look down the window from time to time. John was sitting on his armchair, reading a book, but he kept glancing at his flatmate suspiciously.

“You’re giving me a headache. Would you please sit down?” He finally asked, at which Sherlock just waved his hand dismissively and continued his pacing.

Until the bell rang… and much to John’s surprise, Sherlock leapt and settled into his chair innocently, looking for all intent and purposes, like he had been there for hours.

John didn’t have to wait for long as there a sudden commotion downstairs before Helena burst into their flat, dragging Teddy with her. Mycroft was just a step behind them, looking pale and sweaty as if he was suffering from fever.

Sherlock looked up ‘surprised’ and asked, “Mycroft. What are you doing here?”

Mycroft threw a glare his way; Helena crossed her arms and pursed her lips; Teddy squirmed.

John looked between them and asked, “Er… what’s happening?”

“Apparently, someone decided to send ‘cupcakes’ to Mycroft’s office and someone,” She glared down at Teddy. “…decided to assist.”

“Uhh…” John looked puzzled.

So, Helena added, “Filled with Puking Pastilles… half of it anyway.”

John shook his head, still confused. Helena was still glaring at Sherlock, who looked far too confused, but John had his doubts, which cleared when Helena said, “Puking Pastilles are colour coded chews. the orange half of it makes you throw up and you had to eat the purple half to stop.”

“I didn’t do it!” Sherlock yelled affronted before asking innocently, “Why would I send a cake to Mycroft? I know he’s on a diet! Aren’t you, brother?”

“I was at the club when I received it,” Mycroft told him through clenched teeth, making Helena grimace.

It didn’t take long John to understand what had happened and he couldn’t quite control his giggle, which was enough for Sherlock, who burst out laughing.

* * *

** September 1st **

** Kings Cross **

How fast had he grown? It seemed just like yesterday when she had taken a crying Teddy to the Burrow in hysterics, only to find out that he was teething and here he was… Already in his 2nd year. Helena felt her heart-breaking when she hugged Teddy goodbye. She wouldn’t be seeing him until Christmas and felt a fresh wave of melancholy hitting her. For once in her life, she had no idea what to do or where to go. Now that Teddy too had a life of his own, she felt lost and lonely… more than she had ever before as she waved to Teddy with a smile which didn’t reach her eyes.

* * *

December 4th, 2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EN: Next chapter – Sherlock meets Adler.
> 
> Positive Criticism is always appreciated unless it is rude or insulting. Have a nice day everyone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sadly, I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock. They belong to their respective authors and writers. This is written for purely entertainment and no money is being made.
> 
> It is obvious that many things have been changed according to my story, but many things are the same as the BBC's Sherlock. I've changed some events accordingly and I'll let you know as we go forward.
> 
> I would like to apologize for any mistakes in advance as I do not have a beta. Please do not copy this story anywhere.

**September 7** **th** **2010**

**221B**

Helena read the article printed in the muggle newspaper, reading – 'Hat-man and Robin: The web detectives; Sherlock Net 'Tec'; Sherlock & John: Blogger Detective and Sherlock Holmes: net phenomenon.' There were many pictures of the two of them, trying to hide their faces, but they were plainly visible.

It was a good thing she hadn't been with the two of them when the pictures were taken. To say that she was relieved would be an understatement. She had her fare-share of fame and she had been dragged through the mud enough times to know that this couldn't possibly end up good. If possible, she would like to stay hidden, thank you very much.

* * *

**September 15** **th**

**221B**

Helena entered the living room followed by two men wearing suits and huffed when she saw the detective wrapped nothing but a sheet – again! Who in the world wore a sheet and roamed all over the house where people barge in at all hours?!

And with a man… client sitting in John's chair, for Merin's sake!

Not only could she see the long neck like this, but his muscled back, which made her want to pull the sheet off him and ravage him right on this very table. She wanted to hear him moan like no one ever had. She wanted to know what his lips tasted like. She wanted to make him lose control and come undone… just for her… but she knew it would never happen. And if he continued like he had these past few weeks… every whispered word and the lingering touches, she would surely go mad.

Shaking herself out of her self-imposed misery, she moved to stand beside him and stated, "Would it kill you to answer the doorbell? You know they're here for you!"

One of the men looked at his colleague, pointed in the direction of the kitchen and directed, "His room's through the back, get him some clothes."

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock demanded, looking at the man through the corner of his eyes.

"Sorry, Mr Holmes. You're coming with us." He replied before closing the lid of Sherlock's laptop, ignoring John's alarming calls.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair just as the man set down a pile of clothes with a pair of shoes on the table in front of him and shrugged disinterestedly.

"Please, Mr Holmes. Where you're going, you'll want to be dressed." The man said, finally making Sherlock turn his head and gaze at the man.

Helena watched as Sherlock looked the two men up and down, deducing within seconds – obviously concluding that these worked for the British government. He said with a smirk, "Oh, I know exactly where I'm going."

The man didn't reply, not until he heard Sherlock's next words, "Let's go, Helena."

She scowled at him, just as the man said, "Mr Holmes, we cannot…"

Before he could finish, his phone rang and Sherlock stated smugly, "There are your orders."

* * *

**Buckingham Palace**

Sitting beside Sherlock on the sofa, Helena was wiping her tears when John entered and held his hand out questioningly. Sherlock shrugged before looking around disinterestedly and John took the chair beside the table. He looked at Helena, who was biting her lip, so she wouldn't start laughing again when John peered closely at Sherlock before his eyes met Helena's for the second time. He, then looked at Sherlock and asked, "You wearing any pants?"

"No," Sherlock replied quietly.

"Okay." John nodded.

And Helena couldn't hold back any longer. Covering her face with both her hands, she crackled up like a madwoman… again. Both Sherlock and John turned their heads to look at her before their eyes met and they too promptly burst out laughing.

"At Buckingham Palace. Right." John wheezed, trying to get himself under control and added slowly, "Oh, I'm seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray."

Sherlock chuckled again and finally, Helena took a breath, 'not crying tears of mirth' anymore.

"What are we doing here, Sherlock, seriously, what?" John asked.

"I don't know," Sherlock replied still smiling.

"Here to see the Queen?" John asked, just as Mycroft walked in from the next room and Sherlock uttered, "Oh, apparently yes."

John and Helena crackled up again and Sherlock promptly joined in. The three of them continue to giggle as Mycroft looked exasperatedly and questioned, "Just once, can you three behave like grown-ups?"

"We solve crimes, I blog about it, she's a witch who turn people into animals, and he forgets his pants. So, I wouldn't hold out too much hope." John stated.

Sherlock looked up at his brother, all humour gone and said irritated, "I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft."

Mycroft shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat and asked, "What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?"

"Transparent," Sherlock spoke and, John looked at him startled.

"Time to move on, then," Mycroft said before bending down and picking the pile of clothes and shoes up from the table and offered them to Sherlock, who gazed at them uninterestedly.

"We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes put your trousers on!" Mycroft told him sternly.

"What for?" Sherlock shrugged.

"Your client."

Sherlock stood up and asked, "And my client is…?"

"Illustrious…" Sherlock, Helena and John turned to look at the man who had just walked into the room. "…in the extreme."

John stood up respectfully and Helena followed suit, more because she was feeling at a disadvantage than anything.

"And remaining – I have to inform you – entirely anonymous." The man said before looking at Mycroft. "Mycroft."

"Harry." Smiling, Mycroft walked over and shook the equerry's hand and said, "May I just apologise for the state of my little brother?"

"A full-time occupation, I imagine." The man stated, making Sherlock scowl. "And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

"Hello, yes." John said before shaking the man's hand, who replied, "My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog."

"Your employer?" John looked at him for more information.

But the man simply replied, "Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminium crutch."

"Thank you." John turned around to give Sherlock a pleasing look and cleared his throat smugly.

Helena rolled her eyes at the 'men', but stayed quiet, not wanting unwanted attention.

"And Miss Potter." He looked at her like Sherlock looked at his science experiments, offered his hand and added, "My employer admires you greatly for the great service you've provided for your country."

She looked at his hand but didn't shake it. Her smile was tight, eyes fixated on him as she stated pointedly, "I didn't do anything for **your** country. I did it for mine. It'll be good for **your employer** to remember that."

The man blinked, taken aback and looked away uncomfortably before walking over to Sherlock and said, "And Mr Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs."

"I take the precaution of a good coat and short friends." Sherlock replied, ignoring the glare thrown his way by the said 'short friends' and walked towards Mycroft, forcing Helena and John to step back and said, "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases, both ends is too much work." He turned around to look at the equerry and nodded. "Good morning."

He moved past his brother, towards the exist, but Mycroft stepped onto the trailing edge of the sheet behind him. Sherlock's propulsion carried him forward, but the sheet almost slipped off his body… almost before Sherlock stopped and grabbed it hurriedly before it could reveal much more than it already had.

Helena felt her cheeks flare because this time, his quick reflexes hadn't been so quick. Oh, no… She wanted to hug Mycroft. At the same time, she also wanted to curse him.

Sherlock tugged his sheet back up, covering just enough, but didn't turn as Mycroft hissed, "This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!"

' _Grown-up?'_ Helena nearly scoffed. _'Mycroft was the one to talk.'_

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock hissed back through gritted teeth.

' _If Mycroft did, she would not be held responsible for her… err… actions.'_ Helena thought to herself, feeling like a freaking hussy.

"Or what?" Mycroft asked condescendingly.

"Or I'll just walk away." Sherlock threatened.

' _And for once, Helena knew that he would… just to spite his brother.'_

"I'll let you," Mycroft mumbled childishly.

"Boys, please… not here." John tried to no avail.

"Who. Is. My. **Client**?" Sherlock asked almost incandescent with rage.

"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God's sake…" Mycroft stopped and glanced at the equerry briefly, trying to get his anger under control before turning back to his brother and ordered, clearly annoyed, "…put your clothes on!"

Helena was careful not to use her magic here. There was no doubt in her mind that there would be cameras all around the place and she couldn't risk anyone recording her or else she would've solved this 'issue' with a single spell. Taking a deep breath and trying to will her blush away, she picked Sherlock's clothes and walked to stand in front of him.

"Would you please put your clothes on so we can get on with this nonsense and go home?" She said, ignoring the affronted look Mycroft and Harry threw her way and looked back at Sherlock before adding imploringly, "Please…"

He stared into her eyes for a couple of seconds, and for some unknown reason, his lips twitched upwards like he was about to smile. But, he schooled his features and took the pile of clothes from her, deliberately touching her fingers as he did so before turning around and left the room to get dressed.

Helena closed her eyes and breathed to calm herself before looking up to see John and Mycroft staring at her with expressions she hated.

"What?" she snapped self-consciously.

"Nothing," John replied quickly and looked away; Mycroft merely gave her his best fake smile.

* * *

Sherlock was dressed, finally and was seated on the same sofa as Helena and John, while Mycroft and Harry were sitting on the opposite sofa. Mycroft poured tea from the teapot, smiling up at the equerry and said pleasantly, "I'll be mother."

"And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell," Sherlock said pointedly, making Mycroft glare and Helena hid her smile knowing it was the truth. She had seen the brothers when they were young and even then, Mycroft was Sherlock's 'mother'. As an older brother, he had constantly cared for Sherlock as much as he could, despite being a teenager himself.

As Mycroft kept the teapot down, Harry looked at Sherlock and said, "My employer has a problem."

"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen," Mycroft said, giving Sherlock a wan smile.

Sherlock did not indicate whether he was interested or not and asked, "Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?"

"People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr Holmes?" Harry inquired politely.

Sherlock pretended to think before stating, "Not, to date, anyone with a Navy."

"This a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust," Mycroft told him.

"You don't trust your own Secret Service," John observed.

"Naturally not. They all spy on people for money." Mycroft said before looking at Helena and taunted, "…or favours."

Sherlock bit back his smirk when he noticed the look his brother threw Helena's way, while she grinned innocently.

Harry looked at Mycroft and spoke, "I do think we have a timetable."

"Yes, of course. Um…" Mycroft nodded before leaning forward and picking up a briefcase lying on the table. Opening it, he took a paper out and handed it to Sherlock. "What do you know about this woman?"

Sherlock moved forward and took the picture before staring it and replied, "Nothing whatsoever."

Though Helena's lips thinned as soon as her eyes fell on the picture of the dark-haired woman. Her eyes tightened and she leaned back on the sofa, so she wouldn't end up setting the picture on fire in her anger. Seething as she was, she didn't notice Sherlock turning his head slightly to look at her or how he immediately picked the instant change in her demeanour.

He frowned, though deciding not to say anything in front of his brother.

Mycroft didn't miss how his brother's attention was on Helena and not on the potential case. He didn't like what he saw. Though he shouldn't have been surprised, obsessed as Sherlock had always been with her. Even at the age of 8, his brother had been overly possessive of Helena and how could he forget his brother's reaction when 'his friend' hadn't returned. Though now that he knew the reason, he couldn't say he blamed her. He had hoped, secretly of course… that Sherlock would want nothing to do with her, but it seemed that despite the memories that his brother had locked or deleted, some unconscious part still recognised her as his friend.

He saw his 12-year-old brother crying, the way he had shut down afterwards and what he'd become… he desperately wanted to save his brother, but it was already too late. It was palpable that Sherlock was already in too deep even if he was too stupid to realise it. Even Helena was… if her reactions to his brother were anything to go by or by the way she followed Sherlock into every dangerous situation.

Sherlock had always been sensitive and he was overly so, where Helena was concerned, but he had thought now, that Sherlock had grown up, things would change – it seemed he had been wrong. Well, there was nothing he could do apart from making sure the girl wouldn't break his brother again because he wasn't sure whether he would be enough to pick up the broken pieces of his brother this time or not. He was none too happy and... hoped at least John would be there if things went downhill.

Sherlock arched an eyebrow impatiently, motioning for him to continue and Mycroft told him with a sigh, "You should be paying more attention. She's been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately."

"You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?" Sherlock replied offhandedly, more interested in figuring out how Helena knew this woman.

"Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman," Mycroft said and Sherlock looked up at him for a fraction of second before looking down at the picture.

"Professionally?" John asked.

"There are many names for what she does. She prefers 'dominatrix'." Mycroft told them in a calm and detached voice.

"Dominatrix," Sherlock mumbled thoughtfully, still staring at the picture.

"Don't be alarmed. It's to do with sex," Mycroft told Sherlock placatingly.

Sherlock's eyes snapped to Mycroft and contended, "Sex doesn't alarm me."

Mycroft scoffed softly before asking with a snide smile, "How would you know?"

Sherlock raised his chin defiantly and stared at his brother, who continued, "She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. These are all from her website."

Taking out more photographs from the briefcase, he handed them to Sherlock, who looks at them. Helena peaked at them and yes, they were professional shots for her 'services', portraying exactly the way the woman was – glamorous and erotic. Helena wanted to burn them along with the floozy in them.

"And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs," Sherlock spoke.

"You're very quick, Mr Holmes," Harry said, while John tried to look at the photographs from behind his cup of tea.

Sherlock looked up at the man and asked, "Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?"

Harry exchanged a look with Mycroft and said, "A person of significance to my employer. We'd prefer not to say any more at this time."

Glaring, Sherlock almost threw the photographs on the table.

"You can't tell us anything?" John asked.

Mycroft looked aloof as he said, "It's a young person. A young female person."

Sherlock smiled slightly before asking, "How many photographs?"

"A considerable number apparently," Mycroft replied.

Sherlock asked again, "Do Miss. Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?"

"Yes, they do."

"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios," Sherlock stated and Helena huffed inwardly. It was obvious, wasn't it? Also, she was well aware of how Adler worked, had a run-in with the 'floozy' a couple of years ago. She hadn't been allowed to kill or she would've killed the woman herself. Even now, all she wanted to do was strangle the life out of her.

"An imaginative range, we are assured," Mycroft stated.

John was staring blankly between the brothers with his teacup still half raised. Sherlock didn't look at him, but said, "John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now."

John quickly put his cup down, while Harry asked, "Can you help us, Mr Holmes?"

"How?" Sherlock asked.

"Will you take the case?" he asked impatiently.

"What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss. Adler remarks in her masthead, 'know when you are beaten'." Sherlock said before turning to pull his overcoat from the back of the sofa.

"She doesn't want anything," Mycroft said, making Sherlock turn back towards his brother. "She got in touch. She informed us that the photographs existed. She indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour."

"Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?" Sherlock said, finally interested for the first time.

"Oh, for Merin's sake! She wants safety!" Helena snapped furiously. Four pair of eyes snapped towards her, so she said, "She is rich. More than you, Mycroft. She likes playing with powerful people. This is her, keeping you lot under her thumb."

"How do you know?" Sherlock asked with a frown.

She met his icy blue eyes which were swirling with questions and said, "Because I've seen her at play before."

He stared at her before picking his coat and said, "Text me the details. I'll be in touch by the end of the day."

* * *

**Taxi**

"Okay, the smoking… how did you know?" John asked Sherlock, who shook his head and said, "The evidence was right under your nose, John. As ever, you see but do not observe."

"Observe what?" John asked again.

Sherlock pulled something out from his coat and showed it to John.

"The ashtray." John laughed as Sherlock looked at Helena and demanded, "Tell me!"

"What?" she asked innocently and he scowled before huffing, "How do you know Adler?"

Helena rubbed her forehead, something Sherlock knew she did when especially tired, frustrated or irked. He waited patiently until she spoke, "Around 3 years back, a wizard fell in love with a muggle woman."

"Adler," Sherlock mumbled.

She gave a nod and continued, "They dated for about… half a year. When he proposed, she accepted, so he told her all about himself and the wizarding world. Turned out, she recorded everything he told her, places he took her to, every entrance that led to the wizarding world, shops, some magical creatures. And then, she threatened to reveal everything to the world in exchange for protection for life. She knew there was something suspicious about Max, so she seduced him deliberately. Obviously, protection provided by the wizarding world would keep her safe… or so she thought."

Sherlock stared at her, still confused. She was furious, more than he had ever seen before, but why? He was missing something. It couldn't be the first instance of something of such nature happening, so why? Something else occurred to her and he asked suddenly, "What happened to the Max?"

"He was given a Dementor's Kiss." She whispered.

"Dementor's Kiss!" John gasped horrified by the fate of a man whose only crime had been to fall for a wrong woman.

"Revealing the existence of the wizarding world is considered one of the worst crimes. Max Cooper was a muggle-born, an easy target to show the rest of the world what could happen if they did something like this. When Dementors suck a person's soul out… they exist without their soul… you know… as long as their brain and heart are still working. But they have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no... anything. There's no chance at all of recovery. They just — exist. As an empty shell. And the soul is gone forever... lost. It's the worst thing that could happen to someone. A fate worse than death." Helena uttered slowly, remembering how the dementors almost took Sirius right after they had met.

John was frozen with terror, while Sherlock stared silently, contemplating how risky it had been for her to inform him and John about her world. The only thing saved her was because she was too famous… too powerful and if he wasn't wrong, possibly in league with Dumbledore – and that's why her people were afraid of her.

There was silence until Sherlock broke it and asked, "You're angry because of Max?"

He was still confused about why she hated Adler to such a degree. There has to be something more.

Helena gritted her teeth and spat out, "When he was sentenced, Adler was still in custody. I – I talked to her and she made it clear that she didn't care about Max or what happens to him. She had the recordings 'somewhere safe' and wouldn't reveal the location until provided with life-long protection. Well, once we found where the recordings were, she was obliviated and all the shreds of evidence were destroyed… but not before she tried to seduce the wizards and witches holding her."

John raised a disbelieving eyebrow as she fumed, "She is smart, but also a conniving and a manipulative whore, who can go to any lengths to keep herself a step forward than anyone else in the room."

Sherlock blinked, feeling baffled when he saw her eyes burning with rage and had no idea how to calm her. So, he looked at John, who looked just as bewildered.

Helena didn't pay attention to the men and ranted angrily, "She loves playing games, especially with men. She'll have you in her web and you won't even realise it until she had betrayed you!"

Sherlock gaped, clearly insulted that she would think that some… some woman would be able to fool him. He raised his chin and stated agitatedly, "Not me."

"She walked into the Wizengamot completely starkers in front of fifty people, including the Minister of Magic." She stated and Sherlock stared back challengingly.

As they glared at each other, John stared between his two friends silently, unable to understand what the hell was happening? The silence in the cab was deafening.

* * *

**221B**

"Why do I have to go?" Helena whined from where she was perched on the edge of Sherlock's bed, watching him hurl clothes after clothes on the floor. Sherlock didn't reply, so she asked, "Can I turn her into a frog?"

He stopped his search, looked over his shoulder and said with a scowl, "What? No! We need those photographs!"

She arched a brow because 'the photographs?' They both knew he didn't care about them!

He added under his breath petulantly, "She cannot be smarter than I am!"

"What are you doing?" John asked from the kitchen table.

"I'm going into battle, John. I need the right armour." Sherlock called back, but it was mostly for Helena, who left his room with a huff as the man paraded wearing a large yellow hi-vis jacket.

* * *

**A Block Away from Adler's House**

"Are we here?" John asked as he turned to look at Sherlock, who had pulled his scarf off and said, "Two streets away, but this will do."

Helena looked at him, contemplating something and then nodded to herself. "Ah… straight through the door. Nice, but it won't work."

Sherlock threw a glare at her before turning to John. He gestured to his own left cheek and said, "Punch me in the face."

"Punch you?" John repeated perplexed.

"Yes. Punch me, in the face." Sherlock gestured to his left cheek again and asked, "Didn't you hear me?"

"I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but it's usually sub-text," John said smugly, making Helena chuckle.

Sherlock threw a dark look her way before looking back at John with exasperation and mumbled under his breath, "Oh, for God's sakes!"

And he punched John straight in the face. Helena blinked owlishly when John stumbled back, grunting with pain from the blow. Sherlock, meanwhile, shook his hand and braced himself, just before John stood back up and punched Sherlock on his left cheek, just as the detective had asked, who fell back on the street with an 'oomph'.

Sherlock stood up, holding his cheek, looked at John and said, "Thank you. That was – that was…"

John flexed his fingers and Helena saw his face contorting with anger before he tackled Sherlock back to the ground. Sherlock struggled to pull John off him, who was definately frustrated and trying to strangle him.

"Okay! I think we're done now, John." Sherlock managed to choke-out.

"You want to remember, Sherlock, I was a soldier. I killed people." John told him through gritted teeth, still holding his flatmate in a choke-hold.

"You were a doctor!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"I had bad days!" John hissed before the two men fell back on the street, grappling with each other.

This was something she had seen all her life with the Weasley's and the Gryffindor boys. Helena watched nonplussed, waiting for them to fight it off and just as she had expected, after a few minutes of struggling, the 'men' straightened up, breathing heavily and she shook her head.

' _Boys.'_

* * *

**Adler's House**

"Hello. Sorry to hear that you've been hurt. I don't think Kate caught your name."

They heard a voice and Sherlock immediately noticed how Helena stiffened. _'Adler then', he thought and prepared himself._

"I'm so sorry. I'm…." Sherlock's trembling voice faltered as he looked at Adler as she walked into view, stark naked except for high-heeled shoes and stopped at the doorway. His eyes met Helena's for a second, who was sitting with her back to 'the woman'.

And yes, she hadn't been wrong. Helena hadn't looked at him, but his expressions must've been telling because she smirked and he scowled internally.

"Oh, it's always hard to remember an alias when you've had a fright, isn't it?" Adler said with a smile as she walked further into the room, ignoring Helena and stopped directly in front of him. Sherlock leaned back and away when Adler straddled his legs and half-kneeled on the sofa before reaching forward and pulling the white plastic dog collar from his shirt collar.

"There now. We're both defrocked…" she smiled down at him and added, "…Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

His eyes stared into hers as he spoke in his deep baritone, "Miss. Adler, I presume."

She gazed down at him and said huskily, "Look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?"

Narrowing her eyes, she lifted the white plastic to her mouth and bit down on it.

Sherlock stared up at her confused just as John walked into the room carrying a bowl of water and a fabric napkin. "Right, this should do it."

He stopped dead in the doorway as soon as his eyes fell on the scene in front of him. Adler turned to look at him, the plastic still between her teeth. John blinked before looking down at Helena, who shrugged. John looked up awkwardly, then down at the bowl and said, "I've missed something, haven't I?"

Taking the plastic from her teeth, Adler stepped back and said, "Please, sit down." Sherlock fidgeted uncomfortably as she walked towards the armchair and said, "Oh, if you'd like some tea I can call the maid."

"I had some at the Palace." Sherlock retorted.

"I know." She said before sitting down on the armchair and crossed her legs, folding her arms gracefully to obscure the view of her chest.

"Clearly."

They stared at each other as John looked down at Helena, who was glaring daggers at Adler and he was worried, she truly might turn the woman into a frog before they could get the photographs.

"I had tea too, at the Palace, if anyone's interested," John said jokingly, but it fell flat when no one reacted.

Sherlock's eyes were fixed on Adler as he tried to deduce the woman but came up blank. Baffled, he turned to look at John and analysed him without effort, feeling relieved that his brain was still intact and he hadn't lost it before turning back to Adler. He narrowed his eyes when she smiled confidently and mentally acknowledged that Helena had been right. Adler was smart, he had to give her that and dangerous, if the way his friend was glaring at 'the woman' was anything to go by. He was surprised that she hadn't been turned into an animal yet, but he could never tell with Helena.

"Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr Holmes?" Adler asked, unaware of his inner musings and he quirked an eyebrow at her. "However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait."

"You think I'm a vicar with a bleeding face?" Sherlock asked, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt, now that the pretence was over.

Adler smirked. "No, I think you're damaged, delusional and believes in a higher power. In your case, it's yourself."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, but Adler just leaned forward and said huskily, "Oh, and somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth, too." She glanced at John momentarily before looking back at Sherlock.

John forced a laugh and said, "Could you put something on, please? Er, anything at all." He looked down at what he's holding. "A napkin."

For the first time since entering this house, Helena smiled.

"Why? Are you feeling exposed?" Adler asked John.

Sherlock looked at John, who was clearly uncomfortable, but the woman was having fun at his expanse. When he had… er… barged in on Helena in the shower, she had been embarrassed and hadn't been able to look into his eyes for quite a long time. Yes, she had 'threatened' him that 'she'll have her way with him if he barged into her bathroom or bedroom again', and if he wasn't wrong… she would never go along with the threat. He wasn't blind and was aware that Helena was somewhat attracted to him – her eyes had been dilated when he had pecked her on the cheek on her birthday and today at the palace too, but she knew his boundaries and respected them, even when he, himself didn't.

"I don't think John knows where to look." He stated before standing up, picking his coat and held it out to Adler.

She ignored him or the offered coat and walked closer to John and looked straight into his eyes.

"No, I think he knows exactly where," Adler stated as John shifted uncomfortably, forcing himself to maintain eye contact and not to let his eyes wander lower.

"I'm not sure about _you_." She added and took the coat from him. Then turned to look at Sherlock, who still had his head turned the other way and kept his gaze averted.

"I've seen a naked woman before… I can ask her again or I can borrow John's laptop." As he said this, he turned his head to look at Helena. His eyes met hers and she promptly turned pink within seconds, making him smirk.

"You've seen a naked woman?" Baffled, John asked, his eyes discreetly looking down at Helena and then back at Sherlock.

"Of course, I have," Sherlock replied, his tone somewhere between being offended and smug.

John blinked before asking curiously, "When?"

"A couple of months back." Was all Sherlock said, indicating that the topic was done before walking over to the fireplace, opposite the sofa.

John looked at Helena, who for some reason seemed flushed. If he wasn't wrong… when did this happen? A couple of months back? But… He mumbled, "Huh."

"Helena Euphemia Potter." Adler looked down before adding seductively, "I've heard so much about you."

Three heads snapped towards Adler simultaneously, all looking suspicious.

Helena tensed and spoke for the first time, "Oh? I don't think we run in the same circles."

Adler shrugged as she leaned closer to Helena and looked at her and whispered, "We have more people in common than you may think."

Then, Adler's red nails racked up and down Helena's arm, ignoring how she froze and said with a seductive smile, "I can see why Sherlock likes to keep you around. I could get lost in those green eyes too. You know… we can tie him up, if you like such thing, of course. The three of us can have so much fun together."

Behind her, Sherlock stilled, glaring at 'the woman', who was trying to seduce Helena, who in turn was doing nothing to remove the offending limb from her arm, but was staring right back into Adler's eyes. He wasn't even aware that he had his teeth bared angrily, not until he saw John looking at him with amusement and he snapped his lips together with a frown.

Suddenly, Helena asked, "Won't your girlfriend mind?"

"Girlfriend?" Adler asked looking disoriented as she blinked a couple of times.

John looked confused and even Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

' _He hated being out of the loop!'_

"Your maid." Helena smiled at her innocently and asked, "Kate, was it?"

Sherlock noticed how the woman froze and his own eyes widened before she stood up and turned around. _'How had she known?'_ He thought.

"Enough now." Adler spoke as she stood up and walked over to the sofa and sat down. She looked at Sherlock and asked, "We've got better things to talk about. Now tell me – I need to know. How was it done?"

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"The hiker with the bashed-in head… how was he killed?" she asked, taking her shoes off.

Sherlock shook his head confused and spoke slowly, "That's not why I'm here."

"No, no, no, you're here for the photographs but that's never gonna happen, and since we're here just chatting anyway…" Adler stated.

"That story's not been on the news yet. How do you know about it?" Bemused, John asked.

"I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes." She said seriously.

"Oh," John mumbled as he took the seat beside her. "And you… like policemen?"

"I like detective stories. And detectives. Brainy is the new sexy." Adler replied.

Meanwhile, Sherlock's eyes flittered between Helena and the woman. There was something… he was missing it, but what? Helena knew, but why was he unable to read this woman?

Realising that the discussion had stopped, he muttered incoherently, "Positionofthecar…"

John, Helena and Irene turn to stare at him, so he pulled himself together, pacing in front of the fireplace and spoke, "Er, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That's all you need to know."

Now Adler looked intrigued and asked, "Okay, tell me. How was he murdered?"

Helena's eyes narrowed at her. The woman was bidding her time, along with informing them subtly, that she had been keeping an eye on them… especially Sherlock. Well, it didn't come as a surprise… not after what she knew about her. If anything, her hatred towards Adler increased. She had gotten good at Legilimency in the last couple of years and she would've ripped through Adler's mind is there hadn't been camera's everywhere or even if she was given another minute. Without using her wand, Helena again felt useless. She had been able to take a peek, only seeing where the 'phone' was, Adler had been keeping an eye on Sherlock because she was obsessed with him and her 'maid' was her only ally – the one Irene relied on the most. Kate was in love with Irene and helped her with everything and anything.

Adler was clever, beautiful, strong and a manipulative bitch. And just like she had feared all along, Sherlock was playing right in her hands. She wanted to punch him.

Sherlock glanced at Adler once and said, "He wasn't."

"You don't think it was murder?" Adler asked incredulously.

"I know it wasn't," Sherlock spoke, looking all around discreetly.

Adler looked at him with awe and asked, "How?"

"The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman, recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I'm looking for are in this room," Sherlock stated confidently.

All playfulness left her and Adler looked shocked as she asked quietly, "Okay, but how?"

"So, they are in this room. Thank you. John, man the door. Let no-one in." Sherlock told John.

"I'll come with," Helena said and her eyes met Sherlock's before flickering towards the large mirror over the fireplace before she stood up hastily and left.

Sherlock's eyes filtered where she had pointed briefly before turning back to John, who shrugged and followed Helena, closing the door behind him.

* * *

**Hallway**

John looked up at the smoke alarm and whispered, "Can you use magic?"

Helena shook her head and muttered quietly, "Camera's."

"Right…" John nodded and looked around before picking a leaflet and folding it.

* * *

**Living Room**

Sherlock painted the perfect picture of the crime scene before he asked, "Any moment now, something's gonna happen. What?"

"The hiker's going to die," Adler stated the obvious.

He paced around, crossing his arms across his back and asked again, "No, that's the result. What's going to happen?"

"I don't understand." She blinked, confused.

"Oh, well, try to," Sherlock said condescendingly.

"Why?"

"Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think." Sherlock stated sarcastically and then added with a sniff, "It's the new sexy."

Adler looked up and said, "The car's going to backfire."

"There's going to be a loud noise." He told her.

"So, what?" She asked with a shrug.

"Oh, noises are important. Noises can tell you everything. For instance…" He paused and a moment later, the smoke alarm went off, beeping insistently from the hall. Adler's eyes snapped towards the large mirror over the fireplace And Sherlock smirked. As usual, Helena had been right, but he needed 'the woman' to know that she had lost.

"Thank you. On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities."

With that, he turned and started running his fingers underneath the mantelpiece. As soon he found the switch and pressed it, the mirror slid upwards, revealing a small wall safe behind it. He turned to see that Adler was now standing up, looking panicked.

He couldn't help himself and added mockingly, "Really hope you don't have a baby in here."

"All right, John, you can turn it off now." He called out, but the alarm kept beeping. Focused on the safe, he yelled again, "I said you can turn it off now!"

* * *

**Hallway**

"Give me a minute!" John called back, trying to fan-away the left-over smoke.

Helena took the magazine from him and whacked it at the end of on the table, grimacing when sparks flew up from it.

There was a sound and they both turned around in time to see four men walking down the stairs. The first one raised an enormous pistol – which had a long silencer and fired it up at the smoke alarm. As soon as it shattered, the beeping stopped.

Two men hurry towards John and Helena, aiming their pistols at the two of them. They share a look before raising their hands instantly.

John looked at the third man and said, "Thank you."

* * *

**Living Room**

Sherlock was looking closely at the number pad of the safe as he mused, "Hmm. Should always use gloves with these things, you know. Heaviest oil deposit's always on the first key used, that's quite clearly a 3, but after that, the sequence is almost impossible to read. I'd say from the make that it's a six-digit code. Can't be your birthday, no disrespect, but clearly, you were born in the '80s. The '8s barely used, so…"

"I'd tell you the code right now, but you know what? I already have." Irene said, making him turn and frown at her. "Think."

As soon as she finished, the door burst open and the leader of the group entered the room, aiming the pistol at Sherlock and ordered, "Hands behind your head, on the floor, keep it still!"

Sherlock's eyes instantly snapped towards Helena. The man was holding both her wrists tightly behind her back and was pointing a gun at her temple with his other hand. The second man rushed towards Adler, grabbed her by the coat – his coat, and aimed his gun at her. The third man pushed John onto his knees, with his hands still behind his head and a pistol pointed to the back of his neck.

"Sorry, Sherlock." John apologised.

Sherlock too raised his hands and the man looked at Adler before shouting, "Ms Adler, on the floor!"

The man holding her coat shoved her onto her knees beside John. The man holding Helena was gripping both her wrists with one hand tightly, while the other hand was pointing the gun onto her temple, Sherlock noticed confused. _'Why? Why wasn't he holding her like the rest?'_

"Don't you want me on the floor too?" Sherlock asked, eying the man.

"No, sir, I want you to open the safe." The man replied in an American accent.

"American. Interesting. Why would you care?" Sherlock asked intrigued before turning to glance at Adler, who also had her hands behind her head, just like John.

"Sir, the safe, now, please." The man said threateningly.

"I don't know the code," Sherlock replied in a whisper.

"We've been listening. She said she told you." The man said.

"Well, if you'd been listening, you'd know she didn't," Sherlock argued.

The man stated loudly, "I'm assuming I missed something. From your reputation, I'm assuming you didn't, Mr Holmes."

"For God's sake. She's the one who knows the code. Ask her!" John exclaimed, clearly panicked.

"Yes, sir. She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I've learned not to trust this woman." The man told them.

"Mr Holmes doesn't…" Adler started, but was stopped when the man hissed through gritted teeth, "Shut up! One more word out of you, just one and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be a hardship."

Sherlock glared at the man ferociously.

"Mr Archer, at the count of three, shoot Miss Potter." The man ordered his colleague.

John's head snapped up and he gasped out, "What?"

The man ignored John's outburst and gave Sherlock a shark-like grin before adding, "We've been advised to kill her before Dr Watson."

' _Who could've told them to kill Helena first? More importantly, who could've told them to tie her hands?'_ Sherlock thought hastily before stating, "I don't know the code."

Somehow… somehow, he was able to feel her nervousness… could see it by the way she was struggling to get her hands free, so she could reach her wand, but her expressions were cold… icy even. She didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction that they got her easily. Suddenly, he realised that Helena wasn't scared. He couldn't see an ounce of fear in her eyes, despite knowing that she could die, but the thing was… she had faced death many times now… had died in the forest when Voldemort fired the curse at her, Sherlock was sure of it.

And he realised that he was scared… terrified because he didn't want anything to happen to her. He didn't want to lose her. She was important. The panic that hit him unexpectedly, nearly paralysed him because he couldn't understand where it had come from? And more importantly, why?

"One."

The man counted and Archer cocked the gun, pressing its muzzle firmly into Helena's neck.

"I don't know the code," Sherlock repeated vehemently.

"Two."

"She didn't tell me. I don't know it!" He yelled frantically.

"I'm prepared to believe you any second now." The man said.

Sherlock looked across and his eyes meet Adler's, who lowered her gaze pointing downwards.

"Three."

"No, stop!" Sherlock said loudly.

The man held his free hand up, indicating Archer to stop.

Helena was looking down at the floor, furious that her hands were tied. Also, there were camera everywhere and if she tried anything, Sherlock or John could get hurt. Her eyes filtered towards Sherlock, who was staring at the keypad. He hesitated briefly before punching the buttons. They heard a beep and then the sound of unlocking. Frowning, her eyes turned to Adler, who was staring at Sherlock and smiling like a cat who got the canary. Helena lowered her eyes, glaring at the floor, once again

"Thank you, Mr Holmes. Open it, please." The man ordered.

Sherlock twisted the button and turned to look at Adler again, who jerked her head slightly, pointing towards the floor. He turned back to the safe and called urgently, "Vatican cameos!"

Instantly, John threw himself onto the floor. At the same moment, Sherlock pulled the door of the safe open and ducked down. A tripwire attached to the door tugged the trigger of the pistol aimed straight out of the safe. The gun fired and the man holding John was shot straight in the chest.

Seeing the chance, Helena headbutted the man behind him, who stumbled back, grunting with pain. His hand went to his nose, which had possibly broken if the 'crack' was anything to go by. She hastily snatched the gun from his grip and took his other wrist, swiftly twisting behind his back. She pushed him towards the large window, the back of his head hit the wall in between and the man fell with a pained yelp.

Then, she turned to look at the man holding Adler, who was aiming to shoot Sherlock and fired at the hand holding the gun. The man fell with a pained yell, dropping his gun.

Meanwhile, Sherlock had pulled the pistol from the man's hand and smashed its butt across his face, knocking him unconscious.

Green eyes met grey, which was staring right at her before they turned towards Adler, who had picked the gun and was checking the man to make sure he wouldn't wake soon.

While Adler was distracted, Sherlock hurriedly reached into the safe, took the phone out and shoved it into the inner pocket of his coat.

Adler looked at Sherlock and said with a smirk, "Thank you. You were very observant."

John looked at Adler and asked confused, "Observant?"

"I'm flattered." This time, Adler did smile.

He looked at her and grunted, "Don't be."

"Flattered?" John asked again, this time looking at Sherlock.

Helena stayed quiet, even though she wanted to shoot Adler with the gun she was still holding. The temptation was too much.

"There'll be more of them. They'll be keeping an eye on the building." Sherlock said before hurrying out of the room with John on his toe.

Helena too moved towards the door but stopped to keep an eye on Adler. The woman wouldn't let them leave easily, now that she was staring wide-eyed at her empty safe. She heard five-gun shots and turned towards the main gate, in time to see Sherlock entering the house.

His eyes met hers before he averted them and hurried into the living room and told John, "Check the rest of the house. See how they got in."

Helena was still standing by the door and shook her head when Sherlock pulled the phone out and tossed it into the air. Showing it off to Adler and said nonchalantly, "Well, that's the knighthood in the bag."

Adler's eyes were glued to phone as she held out her hand and said, "Ah. And that's mine."

Her tone was confident as if she knew he would just hand it to her because she had asked for it. Sherlock ignored her and switched on the security lock. It required four letters or number to unlock it and had **'** **I AM'** above the four spaces and **'** **LOCKED** **'** below them.

"All the photographs are on here, I presume?" Sherlock asked, but it came out as a statement.

"I have copies, of course," Adler said assertively, but she was still holding her hand out for the phone.

Despite herself, Helena snorted. "No, you don't."

Sherlock nodded in agreement before adding, "You'll have permanently disabled any kind of uplink or connection. Unless the contents of this phone are probably unique, you wouldn't be able to sell them."

Finally, she lowered her hand and asked, "Who said I'm selling?"

"Well, why would they be interested? Whatever's on the phone, it's clearly not just photographs." Sherlock uttered, staring at the screen of the phone.

Adler looked straight at Sherlock as she said, "That camera phone is my life, Mr Holmes. I'd die before I let you take it." She walked towards him and again held her hand out. "It's my protection."

"Sherlock!" John called from somewhere.

Sherlock pulled the phone back, looked at Adler and said pointedly, "It was."

Then he walked out of the room, nodding his head at Helena, wordlessly 'asking' her to follow him. Helena sighed but followed him up to the bedroom. Adler wasn't far behind.

John was kneeling over the silent figure of Kate lying on the floor. Once sure, she was alive, he stood up and walked to the en-suite bathroom. He looked at the open window and said, "Must have come in this way."

"Clearly," Sherlock said before he felt Helena's hand slipping into his discreetly and she grabbed the phone. She looked at him pointedly and he relinquished his hold, looking at her curiously.

Adler walked anxiously towards Kate, so John said, "It's all right. She's just out cold."

Helena looked at the phone in her hand, surveying it before handing it back to Sherlock, who arched an eyebrow questioningly. She shrugged and he grunted his displeasure.

' _Again! He hated being out of the loop!'_

"Well, God knows she's used to that. There's a back door. Better check it, Doctor Watson, Miss Potter." Adler said, rushing over to the dressing table and opened a drawer.

Sherlock nodded at Helena and John, who left with a, "Sure."

Helena wasn't as sure as John and decided to hide just outside the door. These two were idiots… she wasn't. Neither was Adler.

It wasn't long before she heard Sherlock's voice, "You're very calm. Well, your booby trap did just kill a man."

"He would have killed me. It was self-defence in advance." Adler replied.

Helena frowned when there was no reply… not until she heard his panicked words, "What? What is that!? What?"

Cursing herself, Helena burst into the room, in time to see Adler slapping Sherlock hard across the cheek and demanded, "Give it to me. Now."

Helena's eyes widened when she saw a syringe buried into Sherlock's right arm, just as he stumbled back and fell on the floor.

"No." He mumbled, but his grip on the phone was loosening.

Sherlock was struggling to get up but wasn't successful. She had drugged him and Helena's anger flared. She was breathing harshly and her fingers clenched around the object in her hand.

"Oh, for goodness' sake." Adler snapped before turning back to the dressing table and picked a riding crop before turning back. Her eyes fell on Helena and they widened when she saw the gun aimed right at her.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Helena stated icily, glad that she had decided to keep the gun for a little bit longer.

"You don't understand." Adler started, but Helena stopped her and asked through gritted teeth, "What did you give him?"

"He'll be fine!" Adler said.

"He-le-na?" Sherlock mumbled when his eyes fell on her.

"I won't repeat myself. What did you give him?" Helena asked stonily, her finger tightened on the trigger.

"Ketamine! I've used it on loads of my friends," Adler told her reluctantly, looking frustrated.

"JOHN!" Helena called, keeping her eyes on the woman and said with a chilling smile, "Stay where you are or you won't be needing the phone anymore."

Sherlock was still trying to struggle to his feet. His grip on the phone had loosened and it was dangling from his fingers loosely.

Helena stared at her and then down at Sherlock, who was grunting, but now, had unintentionally dropped the phone. She wanted to help him, but she couldn't give Adler a chance because Helena knew the woman wouldn't let her phone go easily.

Adler looked out the window before looking back at her desolately before adding pleadingly, "I'd die! Please."

Helena couldn't care any less. She remembered how similar her words to Adler had been when she had pleaded for Max's life not long ago, but the woman had just shrugged easily. So, she said coldly, "You might… you might not. Right now, though… I wouldn't think twice before shooting you."

"The pictures are not for blackmail – just insurance!" Adler told her desperately, almost teary-eyed now.

"Helena..." Sherlock whispered again, his eyes moving to look at her.

Helena stared at her and then down at Sherlock, who was grunting, but now, had unintentionally dropped the phone. There were more people keeping eyes on them then she would've liked. She was going to murder Mycroft, but first… she needed to get Sherlock out of here.

"Fine." She uttered and Adler's eyes widened as she stared at her with open-mouthed disbelief. "What?"

Helena kept her eyes on the woman and stated clearly, "Go ahead. Take it."

Adler was expecting Helena to shoot her, but she took the chance and picked up the phone hurriedly. Sherlock grunted something, but she ignored him and ran towards the window. She turned around, looked at Helena and whispered earnestly, "Thank you."

"Jesus. What are you doing?" John asked Adler as soon as he entered the room and his eyes fell on Sherlock.

Helena sighed with relief before throwing the gun towards him and he caught it easily. Then, she rushed beside Sherlock, to check on him. He was heavy, but she successfully managed to help him up.

Adler was sitting on the windowsill with her feet up on the edge, holding a rope. Helena noticed how her demeanour changed instantly as she said, "He'll sleep for a few hours. Make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit. It makes for a very unattractive corpse."

Sherlock was having trouble standing on his own and he was leaning heavily against her shoulder. It was evident that he had very little muscle control, so she slid an arm around his waist to keep him upright.

"What's this? What have you given him? Sherlock!" John asked Adler as he picked the syringe lying on the floor before moving to stop in front of Sherlock and asked, "Sherlock, can you hear me?"

Instead of replying, Irene said, "You know, I was wrong about him. He knew exactly where to look."

John looked confused and asked, "For what? What are you talking about?"

Adler didn't reply to him, but looked at Helena, who was glaring at her through narrow eyes and said slowly, "My measurements."

And with that she pushed her feet against the edge and toppled out of the window, still holding the rope.

John turned to look at Helena, who felt like she would topple herself, dragging Sherlock along, she grunted, "A little help, please?"

"Right, yes." John rushed to Sherlock's other side tried to pull him, so he wouldn't lean as much on Helena.

Tried – being the keyword… but Sherlock was clinging onto Helena as if his life depended on it.

"No!" He shrugged John and buried his face in her shoulder and sighed, "Helena…"

"Christ! What did she give him?" John asked, who had changed tactics by now and took Sherlock's other arm without pulling him away from Helena. This time, the man didn't protest.

"Ketamine." She told John, having no idea what kind of drug it was and she had never been happy that John was a doctor than she was at the moment. He didn't look worried and nodded calmly as the two of them manoeuvred the detective downstairs, so she sighed.

"Can't you use magic?" John asked.

"Sorry. There are camera's all over and people keeping an eye on us. It would seem wired if we vanish suddenly." She told him apologetically, making him nod.

* * *

Between the two of them, they managed to get Sherlock out and John hailed a cab before adjusting his grip around Sherlock's waist again, to manoeuvre him toward it.

Helena got into the taxi before John pushed Sherlock in, who instantly crawled over the leather seat until he was pressed hard against her side.

John got in and gave the address before blinking at the scene in front of him with amusement. Sherlock had his head on her shoulder. One of his arms was curled possessively over her stomach, while the other was fisted in the material of her coat. He wanted to take a picture or two, but he wasn't sure Helena would appreciate it… not with the way her lips were curled downwards and she looked irritated.

John bit his lip to hold in the laugh when Sherlock turned his head and buried his face in Helena's neck and chanted happily, "Helena, Helena, Helena…"

Helena, in turn, was turning pink steadily as she met John's eyes, looking like a deer caught in the headlight. Though, John didn't miss how she had an arm around Sherlock's shoulder or how her fingers were rubbing it in a comforting manner.

Unbothered and undeterred, Sherlock carried on. His lips were running over Helena's neck, right where her pulse and she closed her eyes tightly.

She opened them again, looked at John and said woefully, "I wasn't fast enough."

John had to blink at that because he was sure she had done the best she could've… or who knew what else Adler could've done to Sherlock? He opened his mouth to tell her exactly that, but Sherlock beat him to him.

"No! No!" Sherlock pulled back, his head rolling and Helena moved her hand instinctively to hold onto his curls. Somehow, he managed to look into her eyes and stated fiercely, "You saved me… like always. Just like you promised! Always."

Helena looked at him, swallowing hard before she pulled his head back to rest on her shoulder and buried her nose in Sherlock's hair.

The moment seemed private… too intimate for him to witness, so John couldn't help himself and look out the window.

* * *

**221B**

Sherlock fell asleep before the cab reached Baker Street, coiled against Helena like an octopus. They had to wake him up. He was groggier and still unable to use his muscles, but the two of them managed to carry him inside. Once the door closed behind them, Helena pulled her wand out, casting a feather-light charm on the man.

John sighed with relief and looked at her thankfully, after all, he had been the one to carry Sherlock from the cab to the threshold. He carried the detective up to their flat, shuffling awkwardly on the stairs.

They made it up and through the living room, but Sherlock looked around, searching and as soon as his eyes fell on Helena, he launched himself from John's grip and fell hard onto her. It was a good thing she had cast a charm on him beforehand, or she would've found herself on the floor.

She stilled when he pressed his body against her and sighed breathlessly, "Helena…"

His voice was deeper than she had ever heard before and his lips grazed the underside of her jaw, making her shudder. She shot a panicked look at John, who shifted uncomfortably before coming to a decision. He pulled Sherlock back, who struggled and kept a tight grip on Helena's shoulders.

"All right, Sherlock. That's enough." John said firmly, readjusting his hold on the man and nodded at Helena to open the door of Sherlock's bedroom.

There was some protest from him, but she managed to push him off her before opening the door of his bedroom. John dragged him inside before dropping him on the bed unceremoniously, who fell with an 'oomph.'

"You should probably remove his coat." She told John, but Sherlock turned to glower at him, stopping the doctor in his track.

"He clearly doesn't want me. I'll leave you to it, then." John told her cheerfully, ignoring her protests. With that, the man rushed out, closing the door behind him and Helena cursed loudly.

' _Sherlock was lying with his face down, so removing his coat shouldn't be difficult.'_ Helena thought to herself and walked towards the bed. His arms were lying by his side, so she leaned down and spoke, "Alright. Let's get the coat off and then you can go to sleep."

Pulling the lapels of his coat, she pulled it off easily, when he mumbled, "It isn't the coat you should be pulling off."

Furrowing her brows, she asked, "What?"

He made a noise at the back of his throat, indicating his frustration and turned around, but only managed to fall on his back. It probably was the only energy he must've had because he didn't try again, but looked into her eyes and said seriously, "You should try to take my trousers off instead of the coat. Its much more fun that way."

"Oh my God!" she gasped, feeling her ears turning hot under his gaze. His normally grey irises were blue, darker than she had ever seen and his expressions were warm and open.

"I know you want it." He muttered again and Helena suddenly felt sick.

All her mind could muster was – _'He knew.'_

She stumbled back, away from him and clenched her fists, trying to will the panic away and calm the fuck down because of course, he would know!

"Yo-you are – drugged." She stammered desperately.

"Helena!" He frowned, trying to sit up, reaching out with his arms.

Helena kept her distance, shook her head and mumbled thickly, "No, no. You – you go to sleep now. You'll be fine in the morning."

Sherlock slumped, his expressions turning stormy before he turned his face away… because he was only able to manage that. Helena sighed and moved forward to remove his loafers. Though he stayed still, she could see him glaring at the window. There was a chance, a very big one that he wouldn't remember any of this the next morning. Deciding that this was better… because she knew he would regret it… all of it once the effect of the drug was gone, she nodded to herself.

Covering him with the sheet, she told him, "I'll be outside if you need me."

Sherlock didn't answer, but she wasn't expecting him to and she shut the door behind her.

* * *

**A Couple of Hours Later**

**221B**

John checked on Sherlock periodically throughout the afternoon and they were both relieved to find him sound asleep each time. He was confident that the drug wouldn't harm Sherlock and he would awake the next morning and be back to himself… alleviating one of Helena's fear.

"You alright?" John asked, looking mildly concerned and she had shrugged.

He didn't believe her, but thankfully, didn't push the issue.

It was almost midnight, John had fallen asleep on the couch, but Helena was curled up in John's arm-chair, staring out the window resolutely, when they heard Sherlock's voice.

"Helena?"

John jerked awake and shared a glance with Helena.

"Helena?! John?!"

Sherlock called again and the two dashed into Sherlock's room, in time to see him kneeling on the bed before promptly losing his balance and fell face-first on the floor. He didn't wait and sit up, just as John asked, "You okay?"

Sherlock turned towards the voice asked instead, "How did I get here?"

"Well, I don't suppose you remember much. You weren't making a lot of sense." John replied.

Sherlock got on his feet and looked around. "Where is she?"

"Who?" Helena asked confused.

Sherlock pointed towards the floor and babbled, "The woman. That woman."

She looked at him apprehensively, already having a hit who 'the woman' was, still she questioned, "What woman?"

"The woman. The woman woman!" He gabbled, stumbling around the room aimlessly, looking for someone who wasn't there.

"What, Irene Adler? She got away. No-one saw her." John told him.

Sherlock stumbled over to the open window and look through it.

John tried again, "She wasn't here, Sherlock."

Turning around, he fell again, dragging himself across the floor and looked under the bed.

"What are you…? What...? No, no, no. No." John hauled him up with ease and dropped him face-down onto the bed. He covered Sherlock with the sheet and said, "Back to bed. You'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep."

"Of course, I'll be fine. I am fine. I'm absolutely fine." Sherlock said though it was clear that he was anything but 'fine'.

"Yes, you're great. Now we'll be next door if you need us." John stated sarcastically.

"Why would I need you?" He asked fuzzily, already half asleep.

"No reason at all," John mumbled before looking at Helena, who was frowning and arched a brow.

She opened her mouth to tell him that imagining someone wasn't something Sherlock would do. She wanted to check… just to make sure because Adler couldn't be trusted and it was glaringly obvious that the woman was obsessed with Sherlock. Instead, she said, "I'll be there in a minute."

John looked at her before he nodded once and walked out of the room.

Helena walked towards the window and was looking down when she heard an orgasmic female sigh. She turned around at the same time Sherlock sat up and looked at her blearily. She walked towards the door and they both frowned simultaneously as soon as their eyes fell on the coat – the one Adler had been wearing when she had fled.

' _Sherlock had been right. Adler was here.'_ Helena thought furiously as she pulled the phone out from his coat.

Meanwhile, Sherlock got out of the bed and wobbled towards her and she handed him the phone without looking. It was obvious. The skank not only broke into his room but changed his ringtone as well.

He braced himself against the wall and read aloud, – 'Till the next time, Mr Holmes.'

The two of them shared a glace, because seriously? What next time and why? She had managed to flee with the phone, so why would there be a 'next time'?

That's when Helena's eyes fell on the red kiss shaped lipstick mark, near his mouth and her eyes tightened. Sherlock seemed oblivious, so why would Adler kiss him? Either she was playing a game or her 'obsession' was deeper than Helena had first thought. Or maybe it was both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EN: Do let me know what do you think? Have a nice day everyone.
> 
> December 13th, 2020


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sadly, I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock. They belong to their respective authors and writers. This is written for purely entertainment and no money is being made.
> 
> It is obvious that many things have been changed according to my story, but many things are the same as the BBC’s Sherlock. I’ve changed some events accordingly and I’ll let you know as we go forward.
> 
> I would like to apologize for any mistakes in advance. Please do not copy this story anywhere.

** September 16th **

** 221B **

When Helena entered the living room an hour later, feeling a tad bit refreshed after the bath, she was surprised to see Sherlock awake and looking alert, if slightly pale. He was sitting on the table, reading a newspaper, while Mrs Hudson was in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. John wasn’t in the room, so she assumed he was in the loo.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. He had a little gash where John had punched him and there was a crease between his brows, but other than that, he seemed fine.

“Fine,” he said, proving that indeed the effects of the drug had worn off. Sherlock’s gaze lingered briefly on her face before returning to the paper as he stated, “Whatever it is I may have said or done yesterday, I’d prefer not to hear about it.”

“You didn’t…” Helena hesitated, but then let out a breath she had been holding and asked lamely, “You don’t remember anything?”

He didn’t look up from the paper said shortly, “No.”

The steel in his voice made it clear that it was last of this and even though it disappointed her to no end, she dropped the matter. Forgetting whatever had happened was better than turning things worse.

Mrs Hudson settled a plate in front of her and she thanked the woman gratefully, just as John entered the room. He too sat beside them, enjoying the leisurely breakfast when Mycroft announced his presence. “Hello brother.”

Sherlock didn’t look up from the paper as he told Mycroft, “The photographs are perfectly safe.”

_‘Yes. Completely safe in the hands of a trollop who is a selfish bitch.’_ Helena thought viciously.

Obviously, Mycroft was smarter than his brother as he retorted sarcastically, “In the hands of a fugitive sex worker.”

“Helena was right. She’s not interested in blackmail. She wants protection for… some reason.” Sherlock mused before looking up at Mycroft and asked, “I take it you’ve stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?”

“How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied.” Mycroft replied, reasonably frustrated.

“She’d applaud your choice of words.” Sherlock taunted before adding, “You see how this works? That camera-phone is her ‘get out of jail free card’. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft.”

“Though not the way she treats royalty,” John mocked Mycroft, who smiled back dourly.

But Helena frowned at Sherlock’s tone. Although he always taunted his brother, this time, there was something different… something she couldn’t put her fingers on. Surely, someone like Sherlock wouldn’t be affected by Adler… not when she had warned him how the woman worked, but she couldn’t help the dread that settled in the pit of her stomach at the prospect of Sherlock getting into Adler’s clutches. Many people were much more suitable for him, like Molly. She cared for him and if Helena wasn’t wrong, the doctor was possibly in love with Sherlock.

She was bought out of her reverie when an orgasmic female sigh filled the room. Scowling down at her food, she stabbed the sausage with much more vigour than necessary, though no one noticed… because they were busy frowning.

“What was that?” John asked.

Sherlock avoided looking at anyone and stated indifferently, “Text.”

John looked around and asked again, “But what was that noise?”

Sherlock folded his paper before getting up and go over his armchair to pick his phone. He looked at the message and asked, “Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft before you sent us in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess.”

He walked back and took his seat again just as John turned to look at Mycroft and said, “Yeah, thanks for that, Mycroft.”

Mrs Hudson walked towards the table with a plate of breakfast in hand before setting it in front of Sherlock. “It’s a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that. Family if all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes!” she chided.

“Oh, shut up, Mrs Hudson.” Mycroft snapped back discourteously.

“ **MYCROFT**!” Sherlock yelled furiously; **“OI!”** John shouted, equally furious; at the same time, something hit him at the back of his head.

“Ow!” Mycroft hissed, rubbing the head and looked at Helena bewildered, who in turn, glared at him. An invisible roll of the newspaper had hit him if he guessed correctly.

Sherlock and John looked at her, making her shrug. Mrs Hudson stared confused at the ‘ow’.

“Apologies, Martha,” Mycroft said, looking contrite.

“Thank you.” Mrs Hudson said with an easy smile and went back to the kitchen.

“Though do, in fact, shut up,” Sherlock remarked just as his phone made the lewd sound again.

Mrs Hudson turned towards Sherlock, looking a bit flustered and said, “It’s a bit rude, that noise, isn’t it?”

Sherlock read the message, pretending to be aloof and stated, “There’s nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see.”

“I can put maximum surveillance on her,” Mycroft replied.

“Why bother?” Sherlock asked mockingly. “You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her user name is ‘TheWhipHand’.”

“Yes. Most amusing.” Mycroft sneered, just as his phone rang. Pulling it out from his pocket, he excused himself and answered, [Hello.] before walking out into the hall.

Sherlock watched him suspiciously until John decided to ask, “Why does your phone make that noise?”

“What noise?” Sherlock asked, but his nostrils flared, indicating that he indeed knew exactly ‘what noise’.

John nodded at the phone with his head and said, “That noise – the one it just made.”

Sherlock didn’t look at her and he answered simply, “It’s a text alert. It means I’ve got a text.”

“Hmm. Your texts don’t usually make that noise.” John pointed out.

Helena decided to stay quiet and focused on her finishing her breakfast. The faster she would be done, the faster she would be able to leave.

“Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently as a joke, personalized their text alert noise,” Sherlock said, completely immerged into the paper.

“Hmm. So, every time they text you…” John started and as if on cue, the phone chimed with another _‘Unnhh…!’_

“It would seem so.” Sherlock said and picked his phone, just as Mrs Hudson stated, “Could you turn that phone down a bit? At my time of life…”

Sherlock put the phone down and started reading the paper again.

“I’m wondering who could have got hold of your phone because it would have been in your coat, wouldn’t it?”

Ah… So, John had made the connection… especially when Sherlock raised the newspaper to hide his face. Helena smirked.

“I’ll leave you to your deductions,” Sherlock answered.

“I’m not stupid, you know,” John said with a smile.

“Where do you get that idea?” Sherlock remarked flatly, hidden behind the paper.

Mycroft entered the room, still talking on the phone. [Bond Air is go, that’s decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later.]

As soon as he hung the phone, Sherlock lowered the paper and asked, “What else does she have?”

Mycroft looked at him enquiringly, so Sherlock cleared, “Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn’t be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There’s more. Much more.”

Mycroft looked at him stonily, but Sherlock took a step closer to him and continued, “Something big’s coming, isn’t it?”

“Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on you will stay out of this.” Mycroft ordered and Helena resisted the urge to ask him if he knew his brother at all? Even she knew by now that Sherlock would do the exact opposite, just to spite his brother.

The brothers glared at each other and Sherlock asked, “Oh, will I?”

“Yes, Sherlock, you will,” Mycroft stated sharply.

Sherlock’s face fell for a beat, but he turned away with a shrug and picked his violin, just as Mycroft said, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend.”

“Do give her my love.” Sherlock told him and started playing ‘God Save The Queen’.

* * *

** 15 minutes Later **

** Sherlock’s Bedroom **

Helena knocked on the door but received no response, so she opened it slowly and peeked in. The man was sitting on the bed with both his feet up and fingers steepled under his chin. He hadn’t even realised someone was in his room, so she called, “Sherlock?”

He blinked at her once but stayed in the same position. Arching an eyebrow questioningly, he asked, “Yes?”

She closed the door behind her and walked towards him. Pulling something out of her pocket, she handed it to him silently. He stared at the phone in his hand aghast before looking up at her with something akin to wonder.

“That is…” he started.

“Yes.” She nodded.

“That’s why you gave her the phone.” He mused as if connecting the dots before asking, “How?”

“She said the phone was her life, so she wasn’t about to just hand it over. And the Americans… I knew there was more, so I replicated it and gave her the fake one. To her, it would seem real, but she won’t be able to access it. I would’ve told you yesterday itself, but you were… indisposed and I wasn’t going to hand it to Mycroft, especially after he lied and threw us unto fire.” She shrugged.

His eyes shined with something she couldn’t understand and his voice was filled with awe as he muttered unconsciously, “Brilliant.”

Helena didn’t understand why, but she flushed with pleasure like a freaking teenager at the praise… and ignored her nagging brain which was constantly reminding her that _‘he knew’_!

* * *

** September 19th **

** 221B **

“William Bloody Scott Holmes!”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. He stopped his frenzied rummaging and pulled his head out of the bag to look over his shoulder. There she was… both hands on her hips, glaring daggers at him. In retrospect, ‘borrowing’ her wand and purse without informing her hadn’t been his best idea, but he had been bored! And how did she even know his full name? He absolutely hated it!

“Give them here!” She demanded, eying him furiously.

“You weren’t using them and I was bored!” He shrugged.

“You can’t just take my wand!” She screeched angrily.

She looked ready to strike him down and he swallowed, but it did nothing but excite him further. He wanted to see her magic and what more could she do if angered. He vibrated with anticipation, even as he waved both her wand and the purse in the air and goaded, “Here. Take them.”

He had been ready to run if required, but he wasn’t ready for her to lunge on top of him. The air rushed out of him as he fell back with an undignified _‘oomph!’_

“Really, Sherlock. Give it here!” She growled dangerously and made to grab her wand, but he held it over his head and away from her.

Sherlock’s eyes shined with mischief and he said provokingly, “Come on, Auror Potter. Show me what you got.”

Her eyes narrowed at the challenge and she swiped for it again, but he kept it out of her reach and chuckled. She decided to change tactics and moved her hands down to his side, knowing he used to be ticklish, hoping it would still work. The effect was instantaneous and he squeaked, looking up at her wide-eyed.

She didn’t bother to hide her smirk when he said warningly, “Don’t you dare!”

But it was too late because she moved her fingers, tickling without mercy that made him shriek with laughter. However, her triumphant was short-lived as in the next second, he grabbed both her wrists and flipped them over. She yelped at the suddenness and blinked up at him before chuckling promptly at the absurdity of it all. 

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, confused as to why she was laughing. She had been angry moments ago. Hasn’t she?

“You are ridiculous, Holmes.” She gasped out between her bouts of giggles, not even bothering to push him off her at this point.

He leaned down until he was covering her body with his. His grip on her wrists loosened minutely and Helena’s smiled faded and eyes widened at the proximity. As he stared into her eyes, Sherlock was struck by the swirl of hazel in her green irises. He didn’t think he had seen such beautiful eyes before. How did he miss them? Her intense gaze enthralled him and her lips slightly parted in surprise. Even if it hadn’t been for her heart pounding right against his chest, he would have figured of her attraction towards him by her pupils… which were dilating as she stared right back at him.

Meanwhile, he noticed that his hands had developed a mind of their own as they were now tangled in her long hair beside her head. The air between them made excitement coil around his frame. Unexpectedly, he felt the desire to taste her lips. To catalogue the sensation of her lips sliding against his. He could already tell that they were soft. He wanted to bit them like he had seen her doing numerous times now. He wanted the scent of her minty breath mingling with his own.

And he knew for certain that she wouldn’t stop him.

He stared at her for a long moment before leaning forward slowly, just as she tilted her head up until their noses were touching. Sherlock’s eyes darted down to her lips before moving back up to meet hers, silently asking for permission…

But before she could respond, someone cleared their throat and the two of them jerked apart guiltily.

“John.” He said without looking at the man.

If possible, Helena’s eyes widened even further. She pushed Sherlock off him and stood up hastily, Sherlock followed suit, looking as posh as ever. Helena didn’t even need to look at the doctor to know that he was smirking at the two of them.

“I’ll – er… – just…” She mumbled awkwardly before picking her wand and purse from the floor and rushed down to her flat.

Once she was gone, John looked at Sherlock, eyes filled with mirth and started, “So…?”

“Oh, do shut up, John!” Sherlock snapped brusquely and rushed to his room, closing the door with a loud bang.

* * *

** September 21st **

** Sherlock’s Room **

The house was quiet, save for the sound of the rain thrumming on the windows. Not for the first time, Sherlock cursed himself for his stupidity.

It had been 2 days since… since he had nearly kissed Helena…

She hadn’t stopped him…

If it hadn’t been for John, they would’ve kissed… Probably would’ve done more than kissing.

God forbid, he wanted to kiss her.

He had never felt the need, nor had he cared about kissing or physical intimacy. The first time he had tried, had been boring and redundant and he hadn’t even bothered after that. It would’ve been a waste of time. Utterly useless.

However, the thought of kissing Helena hadn’t left his brain for days now! He had never expected to be so consumed by his need for her or anyone… especially not to this extent. All his logic was forgotten, engulfing his synapses on an utterly primal level in face of his desire for her, demanding him to just _take_.

It was a disturbing thought. Or what should have been, under the thrill of adrenaline that rushed throughout his body! This lack of control, the yearning to touch her consumed him and he wondered how exactly he let himself get into this situation. The amount of space Helena occupied in his Mind Palace was rather alarming

_‘It was as if he had known her for years!’_

How utterly preposterous!

He was supposed to be reserved and controlled, having known all his life that it was the only methodical state of being. Everything else was merely transport. He couldn’t risk getting too close to someone. It was a proven fact that ‘alone was the only thing that kept him safe.’ Somewhere in the darkest corner of his heart, he knew that it was utter shite. He would’ve been dead by now, if John and Helena hadn’t been there to save his life, more than once now.

But merely the thought of getting so close to someone scared him.

Instead of focusing on the case, something which was indeed interesting, he had been jealous of Adler. Sentiment… he figured. The thought left him nauseated. The distraction was too much and left him unable to make unbiased decisions. It was more than a bit not good. He couldn’t do this… couldn’t lose everything he had worked so hard for throughout his life. He hated how out of sorts he felt around her. Somehow, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep himself insusceptible around Helena.

There was nothing to be done. He needed to cut ties with her – a clean break.

Maybe he could ask her to leave? Elicit Mycroft’s help in finding her a new and affordable place? Though he wondered if she would want the help. She was stubborn… more than any other person he had ever met.

Also, there was the thing that she helped him with the work whenever John wasn’t available. She had proved herself to be relatively smart and immensely invaluable. She didn’t hate him… quite the opposite in fact, if he wasn’t wrong.

Maybe asking her to leave wasn’t the best course of action? He just needed to force his mind to go back to the detached state it had been in before he had met her.

Which was why he had been ignoring her since. Not his best idea, but it was for the best.

Sherlock scowled at the ceiling, barely managing not to scream with frustration. Standing up from the bed, he made his way out broodily. Ignoring John, he walked over to his violin resting near the window and began playing the tune he had been working on for weeks now.

* * *

** October 14th **

Helena stared wide-eyed as Sherlock sprouted something about the woman who had been murdered and was lying in the pool of her own blood. She didn’t care about her, but for some reason, no matter how much she tried, she was unable to look away from the glassy eyes staring at the sky.

“Helena?” John called, at the same time Greg asked, “Are you alright?”

They looked concerned, she noticed. Even Sherlock had stopped and was staring at her with a frown marring his features.

“I… uh…” Helena took a shuddering breath and cleared her throat. She avoided looking at the mangled body and stated in a detached voice, “She’s my aunt. Petunia Dursley.”

“Oh.”

It came from John as the three men floundered, not knowing what to say.

_‘It was good,’_ Helena thought. _‘She didn’t want them to say anything.’_

* * *

** Private Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey **

Greg had asked her if she would mind coming along as she was ‘family’. He didn’t know and she didn’t blame him. John had told her that she wasn’t needed and they could handle it, making her wonder why couldn’t she have fallen for him instead of an arse. Things would have been much easier. Sherlock hadn’t said anything, not that she had expected him to. He hadn’t even looked at her since _‘the day’_ unless she was free and he needed her for a case. She, of course, was fine with it. He wasn’t the one in love with her. It wasn’t his problem.

She had said yes. Despite everything, she and Dudley had somehow managed to become polite with each other with time. With him apologising and sending her Christmas and birthday cards every year, it was hard not to forgive him. He had even sent her a picture of his new-born a couple of months back. She had sent a protection charm for the kid. They had been children, after all, unlike his parents. She didn’t think she could forgive them, no matter what.

So, here she was, staring at the house in front of her. It hadn’t changed in years and she had to calm herself even to ring the dorbell. John, Greg and Sherlock were standing just behind her, waiting for the door to open.

Her eyes fell on the man as soon as he opened the door. It had been years and he hadn’t changed much… if anything, he had gained a couple of stones since the last decade.

“YOU! We told you never to show us your face again! We’re long done with you and your freakishness!” Vernon snarled.

Helena flinched back before schooling herself and spat, “I’m not here on a social visit! It’s about Aunt Petunia.”

“What have you done?! I’m warning you! I’m warning you now, girl — if you’ve done anything, anything at all — you’ll be sorry!” He looked ready to lunge at her, ignoring the people standing behind her.

Greg grimaced and bodily shifted in front of Helena, so he could face the man and said professionally, “I am Detective Inspector Lestrade. We found a woman’s body. There was no identification on her, but my colleague Miss Potter identified her as Mrs Dursley…”

Vernon turned red, turned his accusatory eyes on Helena and screamed on top of his lungs, “YOU… YOU DID THIS! I KNOW YOU DID! WE NEVER SHOULD’VE TAKEN YOU IN! AFTER EVERYTHING WE DID FOR YOU… THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY US?? BY KILLING MY TUNY???????”

“Everything you did for me…?” Helena snarled, unable to control her temper any longer. “You kept me in a cupboard for 11 years! You never fed me enough, even though Dumbledore paid you every month! I used to do every household chore to earn food or clothing! And let’s not forget… you used to take pleasure by beating me bloody and locking me in for days, you sick bastard!”

Somehow, she forgot the three men who were standing beside her and had stiffened by the end of her rant, but Vernon had turned purple by now and yelled, “You deserved it! THERE IS NO PLACE FOR FREAKS LIKE YOU HERE!”

Before Helena knew it, her wand was digging into the man’s neck, who stumbled back in his haste to get away from her.

She leaned closer to him and hissed, “Say that again.”

Vernon swallowed, but before he could say anything, another voice called, “Helena?”

She turned her head to look at Dudley, who was standing a few feet away, holding a baby in his arms. He adjusted his grip the baby, who turned his head and stared right at her with eyes that she had grown up seeing in the mirror all her life. The baby blinked at her before giving her a gummy smile.

“I…” Helena felt at loss for words as she pulled away from the man, glaring at Vernon in the process, who shrank back. She turned to Dudley and whispered slowly, “He… uh… his eyes.”

He nodded, smiling down at the baby softly and said, “Yes. He has your eyes.”

Helena nodded, turning away from everyone, feeling suffocated under the looks she was getting and said, “I’m sorry. I’ll let Greg… yeah.”

“What…?” Dudley started, but she turned to John and said shortly, “I’ll see you at home.”

She didn’t wait to see Sherlock stopping Dudley before he could rush after her or Vernon’s paling face when he deliberately ‘asked’ the man if his wife and son were aware of his second wife and 2 children or the fact that the said second wife was the one who had killed his first wife… all because Petunia found out about the affair and had gone to confront the other woman.

* * *

** 221 **

** Later that Night **

After the day she had… she had been feeling oddly vulnerable and exhausted and had visited Sirius’s grave in Edinburgh. It had been a long time since her last visit, more than a year perhaps and she needed to talk to him. Helena knew he wasn’t there, but after his death, Remus had told her that Sirius loved the place and had planned on settling there after retirement. He even had a small apartment in town, so it had been decided that they would ‘bury’ him in a place he loved the most.

Helena didn’t go home until after midnight and froze when she noticed Sherlock sitting on the stairs in the foyer. She didn’t know why was he sitting here and at the particular moment, she didn’t bother asking. The tension was palpable in the air and she wanted to be as far away from it as possible. She looked away from the gaze that was piercing straight through her and moved past him towards the door of her flat.

“Helena?” Sherlock called and despite herself, she turned to him as he made his way towards her, carefully and hesitantly.

Her heart clenched at the sight of him.

She had to constantly remind herself that this man standing in front of her wasn’t her Sherlock. Her friend used to be very affectionate… to the point that some might call it clingy, but she used to soak his warmth like a sponge. He was the first person who had hugged her and then had convinced Mycroft to let her stay with him without informing their parents. What happened wasn’t his fault… it wasn’t hers either, but she did leave him and never returned. It was no wonder he had deleted her from his ‘hard drive’.

It had been nearly a month and he hadn’t even looked her way ever since ‘the tragic day’ as she had started calling it in her head. When he had first started avoiding her, she had thought he might be in his mind palace or sulking because of the lack of cases. She had given him space but later realised that something was wrong when she heard him talking to John. Her messages and any attempts to talk went unanswered. And no matter how many times she tried to talk, he always managed to avoid her and they practically lived in the same house, for Merlin’s sake! Every time she had gone upstairs, hoping he would just talk once, even if he asked her to forget the almost kiss… but no. He would rush to his bedroom as soon as he figured it was her and wouldn’t come out until she left. It didn’t take her long to figure that he was going out of his way just to stay away from her.

_‘Fine. Case. Busy.’_

Always one-word replies, so she stopped pestering him. The sheer avoidance had been so obvious that even John had been giving her piteous looks for days now! It felt like she was being punished. She hadn’t done it on purpose and she refused to apologise or hide for something that wasn’t her fault.

She didn’t have to be a genius to figure out what was wrong. It was fairly obvious. He had figured out that she loved him, making her nothing but a nuisance. He possibly granted her mercy by avoiding her altogether instead of outright throwing insults at her.

The arsehole.

Well, he wasn’t an arsehole… not exactly. She had known about his aversion regarding ‘sentiments’ ever since she had met him after all these years again.

_‘Sentiment is a chemical defect.’_ He had told her himself.

She should have stayed away. Should’ve left when she realised who he was… but it was too late now. All she could do was regret and curse herself. for falling for someone, who she knew would never return her feelings. It wasn’t his fault that she had stupidly fallen for him, despite knowing it might end in disaster. He hadn’t promised her anything… in fact, he had told her time and time again that this was how he was. She was too stubborn to see.

What she didn’t understand, were the mixed signals. What the hell had been they about? All those touches, the kiss on her birthday, his possessiveness especially where Greg was involved. Anyway, she had learned her lesson now. Sure, she loved him, but she wasn’t going to cry over it. What she could do was respect his wishes and move on.

Somehow, she cleared her throat unnecessarily and managed to ask, “Yes?”

Sherlock floundered, uncertain before his eyes flickered over to her face and he asked softly, “Are – are you alright?”

His question surprised him and it must’ve shown on her face because he grimaced minutely. She didn’t have the time for this – pity. He didn’t want to be in the same space as her and she wasn’t going to force him to bear her presence unnecessarily.

She nodded jerkily and replied, “Fine.”

With that, she walked away briskly. Opening the door with magic, she rushed inside and closed it hastily, so she wouldn’t have to face him anymore and slid down against it with a tired sigh.

* * *

** October 18th **

** 221B **

Ignoring John, who was reading a book, Sherlock collapsed in a half-naked heap on the sofa with a long-suffering sigh. It took all his strength to stop himself from screaming out-loud, unwilling to hear John nagging him about being _‘dramatic’_ , so instead, he curled on the sofa in his dressing-gown, morose and unmotivated.

Vernon Dursley – an arrogant, absurdly vain and petty-minded bully, who despised Helena because he was jealous and had spitefully bullied her throughout her childhood. He had never wanted to tear out someone’s throat more than he did at the moment when the foolish man was threatening Helena. Of course, he had known that she was bullied by her ‘family’, but he hadn’t known that they had kept her in the cupboard for 11 years. He hadn’t missed the way she had looked at the broom-cupboard and at that moment, he had felt an incomprehensible urge to protect her.

Helena’s extreme anger at Sally made much more sense now.

Everything was a mess and it was horribly unfair. Wasn’t this what he had been trying to prevent all along? This – this… whatever this was! Push Helena away because she was a distraction. And he had succeeded, hadn’t he? After the first few attempts, she had stopped talking to him altogether. And if he wasn’t wrong, she went out of her way to stay away from him. She had not visited his flat for almost 3 weeks now.

For some reason, it annoyed him. She had respected his wishes, but instead of being relieved, all he felt was anger. She was talking to everyone – John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade… everyone but him. Hadn’t even tried again. The fact that it was bothering him at all was surprising in itself. He was a sociopath and such behaviour was aberrational in itself. However, instead of feeling triumphant like he had expected, the only thing he felt inside was emptiness. He had singlehandedly and quite intentionally annihilated whatever he had with Helena. And yes, even he knew that there was some kind of ‘bond’ between the two of them.

He hadn’t acknowledged it until recently, but he had become so attuned to her presence around him that everything became quiet and dull the moment she ‘left’. He heaved an enormous sigh, trying to figure out a way to salvage the shattered shards between him and Helena… if there was anything left, that is.

John eyed him warily and finally asked, “Everything alright?”

Sherlock harrumphed miserably and buried his face in the cushion once again.

* * *

** October 27th **

“You chauvinist pig!” She yelled and threw her wine in Sherlock’s face with much more gusto than he’d expected.

“What the hell?” He spluttered back indignantly, groping for the napkin and wiping his face.

Helena stood up, throwing the dirtiest look his way as she pulled her jacket and stormed out of the restaurant.

Sherlock glanced at Thomas Murphy discreetly – 27, junior executive, a penchant for rape, assault and battery. Liked women who can fight back; had raped 5 women, killing 3 of them. The only reason he wasn’t rotting in prison was that his father was a well-known solicitor… and also because there had been no proof.

They had a plan. Being this time of the night, it was guaranteed that Murphy wouldn’t miss the chance and would follow Helena, who just had to lead him to the back alley with security cameras, so he couldn’t escape this time. The only downside being, she wouldn’t be able to use magic if they were to use the footage in court, so Sherlock was going to follow her and John was waiting near the said alley.

As expected, the man paid his bill and followed Helena. Sherlock too paid hurriedly and made his way through the kitchen to the exit out the back. He skids around the corner and ran to the alley they had chosen, but slammed to a halt when he finds it empty. Turning around, he rushed all around the restaurant looking intently for any signs of John or Helena when the sound of a distinct scuffle reached him. Turning around once more, he sprinted towards the sound when a gunshot sliced through the night air.

The ringing left behind is deafening as panic gripped him and he hoped that the shot fired was from John’s gun because Murphy wasn’t supposed to have a gun. He hadn’t seen it.

“Helena! John!”

He yelled, sprinting faster down to the alley where the shot came from. The frantic pounding in his chest matched perfectly with his feet pounding over the pavement and his heart threatened to burst through his ribcage.

“Helena! John!”

He called again hysterically, when he heard John’s voice, “Over here!”

The sound was slightly strained as he made his way towards another corner and around an Indian restaurant.

Murphy was lying on the ground, nearly unconscious with a gun lying a few feet away.

_‘Not John’s.’_

And John himself was struggling to hold Helena back, possibly because he had a gash on his head and was bleeding.

_‘Hit his head on the brick wall and thankfully, it wasn’t deep, but he would still require stitches.’_

Sherlock noticed just as John turned to look at him and gritted out, “Some help please.”

Helena took advantage of his moment’s distraction and shrugged John off before kicking Murphy in the ribs. The man groaned with pain and curled in on himself on the grimy pavement.

Sherlock shook himself off, darted forwards and pulled Helena up bodily. She was still struggling to get out of his grasp, so he told her, “Alright. We’ve caught him on at least four cameras and Lestrade will be here at any moment.”

Her struggles ceased, but he noticed the moment her body stiffened in his arms before deflating. Deciding that she wouldn’t try to kill the idiot anymore, he let go and asked softly, “Alright?”

She nodded stiffly without looking at him, making him frown, but before he could ask anything, the sirens in the background blared.

Lestrade rushed up to them and asked, “What in the ruddy hell happened here?!”

“I – uh… he tried to kill John,” Helena answered as a way of explaining.

John gave police the statement after the paramedics patched him up and the ride back to Baker Street was filled with silence.

* * *

** 221C **

She had just stepped out of the shower when an insistent pounding on the door stopped her. Already having a hunch who it might be, she sighed and tied a robe around herself before walking out and opened the door. Of course, she wasn’t wrong. His gracious himself had decided to grace her with his presence and of all the times, it had to be now. _Figures._

Even before she could ask why was he here, he glared at her accusingly and said, “You locked the door.”

Her anger flared suddenly. **How dare he?** He had no right… none whatsoever, to demand anything! Not after avoiding her like a plague for more than a month now.

She crossed her arms across her chest and asked through gritted teeth, “Is there something you need?”

Taken aback by the venom in her voice, Sherlock stared at her before shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat and deduced, “You’re really angry with me.”

She gave a grim smile and snarked, “Marvellous deduction.”

He floundered for a moment before bracing himself and said, “I’ve been busy.”

She struggled to control her fury and said, “Yes. Busy avoiding me.”

He avoided her eyes and scoffed unconvincingly, “Why would I do that?”

Finally, losing her temper, she hissed, “I don’t know! Why don’t you tell me?!”

“BECAUSE OF YOU!” Sherlock’s eyes flashed. He drew a step closer to her and spat, “You-you're frigging everywhere!”

She flinched back as if struck physically. Her heart pounding frantically and she barely managed to gasp out, “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” His voice was a snarl as he accused, “If it weren’t for you and your – your – _everything,_ I would be able to think properly for a change!”

Helena realised like a slap in the face that she had been right all along. She had feared as much – Sherlock had read her pathetic desperation, had known it for weeks. She shut her eyes because seeing the hatred in his eyes wasn’t something, she would be able to deal with. Listening to the words thrown by him felt deeper than she would’ve thought and she was left feeling oddly bereft. It was exactly what she’d been afraid of. She took a deep breath, grasping the frayed threads of her sanity. She didn’t want to lose control… not in front of him. Bugger it all to hell. She could break once she was out of here.

“Yes. Well...” She stopped, letting out a long slow breath, which did nothing to help abate the hollowness she was feeling and said, “Since I’m causing so much trouble, I’ll make things easier. It might take a couple of days, but I will make the necessary arrangements.”

That wasn’t what she had planned on saying and she wanted to take it back instantly. Now, where in the freaking world was she supposed to go and make ‘necessary arrangements’? She had put half of her money in buying this place and even Teddy loved it here. He would be back for Christmas. What was she going to tell him? This had become their home. She had to bite her lower lip to stop the trembling before she cleared her throat and motioned for him to leave.

“What?” Sherlock gasped with shock. Reaching out, he seized her wrists and said, “What do you mean ‘necessary arrangements’? You’re not leaving.”

“Let go.” Helena’s voice was deadly quiet as she tried to shake his hold, but it only tightened further.

“No. You don’t understand. I don’t…” He stopped whatever he was about to say and pleaded, “…will you look at me?” 

Finally, her eyes met his and she was startled to see the wildness in his expression as he commanded, “You’re _not_ leaving.”

She shook her head and whispered, “Sherlock, please. This – we… are not good.”

“No! You’re wrong!” His hands moved to hold the crest of her shoulders as if afraid she would vanish any moment. “There is a chemical reaction inside my brain… and I can’t get rid of it, no matter what! It was set into motion the day we first met and I believe, I am no longer a substantial component on my own. I tried and reached the conclusion that we’re like a molecular bond, struggling to align when separated, which is why you leaving Bakers Street will not be good. Do you see now?”

Helena blinked up at him, feeling out of her depth because half of what he said didn’t make sense to her, only the part where he said that she shouldn’t leave.

“What?” she finally managed.

Sherlock closed his eyes and let out a growl, frustrated by her lack of understanding. He wasn’t good in such situations and just the thought of her leaving made him panic… because he knew that even Mycroft wouldn’t be able to find her if she left. He couldn’t let her go. But how was he supposed to tell her that _s_ _he was brilliant and an equal match._ _She held a key to something that had been buried deep inside him until now… something that had been roused because of her… something he didn’t understand and he wanted her to help him with it._

He couldn’t speak, dumbstruck by the sudden realisation and confusion as he stared at her. He wanted her to understand because _she was the only one who could._ Suddenly, his eyes, they flashed with a myriad of emotions as his eyes roved over her face. He took a step closer and lowered his head to invade her personal space.

“Let me try this differently!” He growled out exasperatedly.

Before she could question him further, he pulled her towards him and crushes his lips to hers with bruising force. Helena froze under his mouth, unable to believe what was happening. Then she felt Sherlock’s hands loosening their bruising grip on her shoulders and moving down her hands until they reached her fist which had coiled into a fist somehow. He rubbed his thumbs over her fist before tangling his fingers with hers.

The slide of his palm against hers wasn’t new, but this situation in whole was enough to break her shock and she gasped in surprise. Sherlock took advantage of her open mouth to deepen the kiss, leaning down into her if possible and pushed his tongue past Helena’s lips.

It lasted no more than 10 seconds before he pulled away, but it was enough to leave her entirely breathless and reeling.

Wide-eyed, she looked at him, feeling like a bumbling idiot as she gasped out, “Wh-what…?”

“I know you want me. You’ve wanted me for weeks now and you've never said or done anything about it, so I figured I’d help you by making the first move.” Sherlock told her nonchalantly, even though his eyes were filled with something too much for her…

Helena turned scarlet with embarrassment at his words. So, he had known… of course, he would’ve known! She admonished herself, feeling utterly stupid because she couldn’t dare hope.

Love…

He didn’t believe in it. Had reminded her again and again that ‘love was a chemical defect’.

But the way Sherlock was looking at her… it was creating an abyss inside her steadily and she was afraid, terrified that if… when he decided that he had made a mistake, she would tumble and be lost forever. Her heart was beating too fast and she realised that her eyes had been shut only when he called her name.

“Helena.” He looked vulnerable as he said, “I’m no good at this… but I – care about you. A lot. Too much… I -I…”

Sherlock looked frustrated, at loss for words, Helena marvelled.

“You can’t leave. I…” He floundered again and it took him a couple of seconds to choose his next words. He cleared his throat and said slowly, “I need you… possibly more than you do me. Yes, definitely more, I’d say.”

Sherlock looked terrified and so utterly lost. She had never seen him like this. Helena felt her throat closing up as she stared into his eyes. It was utterly cruel to keep him waiting when he had just laid his heart out in front of her and she couldn’t see him like this.

When she still failed to reply, he shifted uncomfortably before removing his hand from hers to caress her cheek with his knuckles. She sucked in a breath but made no move to stop him, so he moved his hand to rest over the side of her neck, just below her jaw, where he could feel her pulse hammering.

“I would like to kiss you now.” He stated, but it was more of a question.

“Yeah. All right.” She replied dumbly, still mystified, wondering if this was a dream.

Sherlock stared, concern written across his face and ducked his head, suddenly unsure and hesitant as fear of the unknown gripped him. But Helena reached out, took hold of the edges of his coat and dragged his mouth down to hers. They ended up bumping noses and clashing teeth clumsily in their combined eagerness. Helena pulled back, unable to contain the giggle, while Sherlock looked frustrated by his lack of fineness.

She bit her lower lip and asked self-consciously, “Again?”

“Yes.”

He growled out and kissed her again.

The kiss was different than the previous ones. Their hearts beating frantically against one another. Sherlock’s lips moved over hers tentatively.

_Seeking. Experimenting._

Her mouth was soft under his and Sherlock wanted to swallow her whole, explore every inch of her body. He felt Helena opening for him, yielding to him in a way that went far deeper than just parting of her lips. He could feel her trying to keep her moments gentle, but he wanted her… especially now that he realised that he could’ve lost her in that alley. She was good, a witch, the best auror the world had and could stop a bullet with a wave of her wand, he reminded himself.

He moved his hands up to cup her face in his urgency as he deepened the kiss and felt her soft sigh against his mouth. He tilted his head to the side for better access and bit her lower lip like he had dreamt of doing for weeks now. The effect was instantaneous. She moaned and moved her hand to twine at the nape of his neck.

At the moment, Sherlock’s mind was blissfully blank. The only thing in his world was Helena and he wanted to grip her tight because of the fear that she would change her mind and leave him bereft. Her fingers skimmed up and down his back, making him shudder. He pressed her back against the wall for support and kissed her harder, nibbling at her lower lip

Helena was in a warm world surrounded by Sherlock. His hands were moving from her shoulder blades down to her lower back frantically, his leg was tangled with hers and his mouth – warm and wet was on hers. She wanted to open her eyes and see his face, but it was too much. Helena felt like he had engulfed her whole being just by the way he was holding her that even standing upright had become difficult and she was certain that if it hadn’t been Sherlock holding her, she would’ve fallen.

Sherlock smelt faintly of cherry blossoms and caffeine.

Intoxicating.

His tongue pushed against her own and she tilted her head to take him deeper into her mouth… allowing him to explore to his heart’s content.

The sound he made was nearly animalist, enough to make her legs give out, so she clung to his back.

He pulled back just for a second before swooping in again, but this time, his mouth slid along the length of her collarbone. It was hot and wet and her mind went blissfully fuzzy when he dragged his teeth over the sensitized skin.

_‘Oh, God.’_ She shuddered. _‘They couldn’t keep doing this. Not where Mrs Hudson or John could see them.’_

Despite herself, she tilted her head back to give him better access and couldn’t stop the gasp that tumbled out when he pushed his hips into hers and she felt his hard length pressed against her.

“Sh-sherlock!”

_‘Just one deep breath, to steady himself.’_

Sherlock thought as he felt her shiver against him and pulled away with tremendous effort. Though he kept her close, so her breath was mingling with his own as he took much-needed air. Opening his eyes, he looked at Helena, only to find her looking at him through her lashes. Her breathing was just as unsteady, her eyes blown wide, green devoured by black – dark and hungry… for him.

The intensity of the shared emotion between them almost knocked Sherlock off his feet. It left him wondering if he looked the same… possibly worse because there was no way she felt so strongly for him as he did for her.

_‘I understand.’_ His mind supplied. _‘I finally understand how much I need you.’_

He cupped her face slowly, gently, his thumbs resting by her jaw and he willed her to understand what he knew he would not be able to say.

The look in Sherlock’s eyes took her breath away. It was open and vulnerable and suddenly she was afraid… terrified that one wrong move and she would be lost forever. She could feel his heart beating erratically where it was pressed against hers and she pressed her cheek against his, just so she wouldn’t have to look into his eyes. Helena knew that saying anything might be too much for him and that was okay because _she understood… and felt the same way._

Sherlock pulled back a few seconds later, lifting a strand of damp hair from her shoulder and wound it around his fingers as if he had been doing it all his life. Then he drew her closer, but refrained from staring into her eyes and asked tentatively, “So, you’re not leaving, then?”

“Of course not, you dolt.” She replied in a hushed voice and then stated seriously, “You can’t do it again.”

He just looked confused, so she clarified, “You are never going to block me out. Never. Do you understand?”

“I won’t.” He promised just as seriously.

* * *

** November **

** Somewhere in London **

John looked between Sherlock and Helena suspiciously, wondering what had he missed this time? The two were on talking terms again… and even closer if he wasn’t wrong, but apart from that, he didn’t think anything has changed.

As soon as Helena appeared, Sherlock’s eyes instantly flew to her as if magic, before he turned back to the dead body even before anyone, could notice. If he hadn’t been watching closely, he would have missed it entirely. Once the man belittled everyone and told Sally who the murderer was, he crossed over to Helena, took her hand and dragged her along. She, as always followed.

“Come along, John!” he called without looking his way.

John didn’t miss how Sherlock’s eyes lingered on Helena or how Helena smiled at him fondly even as Sherlock cursed everyone and everything around him.

Mentally, he wanted to shake them and ask – _‘_ _Do you know how in love with each other you are?’_

He shook his head and followed the two, determined to figure out whatever he was missing.

* * *

** December 7th **

** 221B **

John was updating his blog, while Sherlock was lying on the couch with his fingertips pressed against the skin under his jaw in a mock prayer when Helena entered 221B.

“I’m going out. Is there something you need?” she asked.

Sherlock kept his eyes closed and asked, “Why?”

“I have yet to do the Christmas shopping.” She replied.

“Helena, don’t feel compelled to get me a Christmas present,” Sherlock told her listlessly.

Both John and Helena snorted simultaneously. Trust Sherlock to assume everything was only about him.

“Don’t worry. I won’t be getting you anything.” She supplied just as languidly.

“Wait. I’ll come along.” John told her as he closed his laptop and picked his coat up.

Now Sherlock opened his eyes and asked with a frown, “Why?”

“Because I want to decorate the flat – the tree, wreath, tinsel, lights. And I’ll do it whether you approve or not.” John announced and followed Helena downstairs, ignoring Sherlock’s look of absolute horror.

* * *

Four hours later, the two stepped out of the store with six over-filled bags. John meanwhile, was still in a daze as he stared at the ridiculous number of things Helena had decided to fill the trolley with.

He was trying to think about anything but the bill… but it had been _enormous_!

How could someone spend so much of their money on something that didn’t last more than a month? And the list of people she had bought gifts for had been never-ending and he was sure some of them were still left. How much money did she earn anyway? He was a soldier. Why couldn’t their government pay them a little bit more?

However, Helena wasn’t bothered. She had bought almost everything she needed and for the rest, she needed to go to Diagon Alley. She was just looking for a cab when something out of the corner of her eye made her freeze.

Jim Moriarty.

She turned to look and did a double-take, but shook her head when she found no sign of him or anyone for that matter. Cursing her paranoia, she got into the cab John had managed to hail.

* * *

** December 25th **

** 221C **

** Morning **

Sherlock’s eyes widened with horror as the woman pulled him down and hugged him like he was her long-lost son. He looked at John for help, who was sniggering behind his glass of mulled wine and Sherlock threw a murderous glare his way. Her husband, thankfully pulled her back before she could suffocate him further.

Oh, but she wasn’t done.

She put both her hands on his face and cooed, “Oh! Such a handsome boy.”

“Alright, Molly, let him breathe,” Arthur said and finally managed to pull his wife back.

As if this and the food she had managed to shove down his throat wasn’t punishment enough, she even gave him a red, handmade Christmas sweater… similar to the ones she had knitted for John, Helena, Teddy and everyone in the Weasley clan.

_Hideous._

Two hours later, he was still glaring at the woman, Molly, when Helena made her way to him in the corner and said, “Come on, she means well.”

“If by ‘well’ you mean that she wanted everyone to look like a freaking clown, then congratulations… mission accomplished!” He grumbled back moodily.

He was so busy pouting that he didn’t notice when Helena lifted on her toes and pressed a quick, but fierce kiss on his lips. It took him entirely by surprise, but before he could even think of responding, she was gone, leaving him in a daze and with an aching tenderness in his chest, just like every time they kissed.

Despite how outstanding the kisses were or how her simple touch left his body tingling with pleasure, they had yet to attempt anything more. They hadn’t discussed it yet, but even the thought left him equal parts excited and nervous about the development of this step.

It was all very confusing. Maybe he should talk to John? Or do more research?

“Sherlock?” John called.

He looked up, only to find everyone staring at him looking mildly concerned and he arched an eyebrow.

“You’re looking rather red. You’re not falling ill, are you?”

In reply, Sherlock scowled and rushed up to 221B.

* * *

** December 25th **

** 221B **

Christmas had officially thrown up in his flat. Trying to ignore the fairy lights strung up everywhere, Sherlock looked out at the snow through his window while playing ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ on his violin. Teddy was happily shoving mouthfuls of mince pies made by Mrs Hudson, who was sitting in Sherlock’s armchair, watching him happily, while Helena was talking to Lestrade standing by the kitchen.

As soon as he finished playing, everyone cheered and a drunk Mrs Hudson said, “Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely!”

Lestrade whistled just as John walked over to his chair with a cup of tea and beer in hand.

“The antlers looked lovely, dear.” Mrs Hudson told Sherlock, making him glower at Helena as the witch had stuck them on his head with a sticking charm.

Helena smiled back innocently, just as John’s date walked up to him, offering a slice of cake.

“No thank you, Sarah.” He replied in an attempt to be polite, but her face fell.

John handed the cup to their landlady and rushed over to her and said hurriedly, “Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He’s not good with names.”

“No, no, no, I can get this,” Sherlock said, not noticing how the woman had put the tray down and was glaring at him with her arms crossed across her chest. John, as usual, looked like he wanted to murder his flatmate.

“No, Sarah was the doctor, and then there was the one with the spots, and then the one with the nose, and then… who was after the boring teacher?” he finished, looking up at John for clarification.

“Nobody.” The ‘boring’ teacher replied.

“Jeanette!” Sherlock pointed his bow at her and then added with a grin, “Ah, process of elimination.”

Teddy, who was staring at the exchange with wide eyes, giggled. Sherlock looked down at him and winked.

Helena walked over with two mugs of butterbeer and handed it to them. Sherlock looked confused but took it after Teddy gulped his down within seconds. But before he could even smell it, the door opened and they looked at the new arrival.

“Oh, dear Lord.” Sherlock bemoaned.

“Be nice,” Helena whispered.

He looked offended that she would even think that and mumbled petulantly, “I’m always nice.”

Helena shook her head before helping Molly with the two heavy bags which were filled with presents.

“Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello.” Molly greeted, smiling shyly. “Er, it said on the door just to come up.”

“Oh, everybody’s saying hello to each other. How wonderful!” Sherlock said sarcastically but was ignored.

John walked over to greet Molly and helped her out of the coat, not noticing how her focus was on Sherlock or nervous she was.

“Let me, er… Holy Mary!” John gasped as soon as she pulled her coat off, revealing a form-fitted black dress with thin straps and glittering beaded lace on top.”

Even Lestrade’s mouth fell open as he ogled the pathologist and nearly dropped his wine.

Helena rolled her eyes at the ‘men’ and told Mary with a smile, “Molly, you look beautiful.”

Molly blushed even as her eyes darted to Sherlock expectantly, who was once again focused on his laptop. With a sigh, Helena offered Molly a glass of wine, who had yet to look away from the detective.

“John?” Sherlock called.

John moved to stand behind him and looked at the screen over his shoulder.

“The counter on your blog… still says 1895.” Sherlock pointed out.

John made a face and said sarcastically, “Ooh, no! Christmas is cancelled!”

“And you’ve got a photograph of me wearing that hat!” Sherlock exclaimed affronted, pointing to the sidebar which had one of the pictures with ‘the hat’ printed in the paper months ago.

“People like the hat,” John told him, moving to sit beside Jeanette.

“No, they don’t. What people?” Sherlock asked confused but didn’t receive a reply.

Looking around, he noticed that everyone was indulged in polite and awkward small talk, making him want to vomit, which was why he sighed with relief when the doorbell rang. Everyone frowned, but Sherlock kept his violin on the couch, ignored all and rushed down the stairs excitedly. Helena looked at John questioningly, who shrugged.

They heard pounding footsteps a couple of seconds later, Sherlock bounded upstairs with a basket in hand, grinning as he bounced on his feet like a little kid. Whatever he was about to say was lost when he saw six pair of eyes gawking at him. Suddenly feeling apprehensive, his cold mask slipped back into its place and the bouncing stopped.

He sniffed disdainfully, kept the basket on the coffee table and stated stoically, “Teddy’s Christmas present.”

Everyone was surprised, but Teddy jumped happily as he ran towards the present and opened the basket. Then, he shrieked with delight as soon as he saw what it was. Even before anyone could ask what it was, Teddy threw himself at Sherlock and announced, “You’re the best!”

Sherlock patted his head uncertainly as if he were a dog. Helena arched her brows at the display because hadn’t he said something along the lines of ‘no presents and stupid’? So, she couldn’t help herself and moved to look into the basket. She stared at ‘it’ for a long moment before turning to look at the man, who looked nervous as his eyes met hers.

Teddy meanwhile rushed back to his present and pulled the sleeping puppy out, cradling him to his chest, looking ready to burst with happiness.

“You bought him a dog?” John asked, breaking Helena and Sherlock from the staring contest.

“Obviously.” Sherlock replied with a roll of his eyes and shifted uncomfortably before adding, “It’s an English Foxhound. Male. Someone owed me a favour.”

“But…” John shook his head, looking perplexed and mused, “Teddy will be back to school within a week.”

“Oh no!” Teddy cried out, looking ready to burst into tears as if suddenly realising that there was something called ‘school’ and the puppy will not be accompanying him.

“Helena can take care of him when you’re gone.”

Sherlock said it casually, but Helena knew better. He had known she loved dogs and had wanted one ever since Toby. And just like that… she knew that it definitely wasn’t ‘Teddy’s Christmas present’. He was well aware that dogs weren’t allowed in Hogwarts. At the moment, she felt like her heart would burst out of her chest at the amount of love she felt for him.

“Will you?” Teddy shook her and she had to blink to focus on anything that wasn’t Sherlock.

“What?” She asked stupidly.

Teddy huffed before repeating, “Will you take care of him while I’m gone?”

He looked hopeful that there wasn’t a thread of doubt in her head that she could’ve refused even if she had wanted to.

She nodded solemnly. “Of course.”

Teddy cheered, making her smile and handed her the puppy, who was now staring right at her with its blue eyes. Helena couldn’t help herself and scratched under his chin, making him purr contentedly.

She looked up at Sherlock, gave him a beaming smile and mumbled, “I think I’m in love.”

And for some reason, which she didn’t realise until later, Sherlock turned bright red before he turned his face away.

“Isn’t he a cute little fella?” Mrs Hudson said, staring at the puppy. “What are you going to name him?”

“Buddy!” Teddy shouted decisively.

“No.” Sherlock’s eyes widened with horror at the name and he sneered before anyone could name the dog something as abhorrent as ‘Buddy’.

Teddy looked up at him, looking heartbroken and said, “But… he’s mine.”

Sherlock ignored him and suggested, “Bones.”

“No.” It surprisingly came from Helena.

Sherlock looked insulted before protesting, “But…”

“No.”

Helena stated firmly, making everyone stare at the two with bewildered fascination as Sherlock pouted instead of firing an insult.

“Caesar…”

Sherlock opened his mouth to rant about the ridiculousness of the name, but before he could, Helena finished, “The pirate.”

“That,” Sherlock stopped to think before nodding, “…seems acceptable.”

“I like it,” Molly said and suddenly flushed when all eyes turned towards her.

“The name, that is.” She clarified before turning to Mrs Hudson and asked, “How’s the hip?”

“Ooh, it’s atrocious, but thanks for asking.” Mrs Hudson replied.

“I’ve seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems.” An awkward silence fell as everyone stared at Molly, who looked embarrassed and apologised, “Oh, God. Sorry.”

“Don’t make jokes, Molly,” Sherlock told her snidely.

Molly’s face fell, but she put the smile back on and asked Helena, “I hear you’ll be visiting your extended family?”

Helena looked surprised that she knew, but nodded. “Yeah.”

“Sherlock was complaining” Helena didn’t miss the arched eyebrow Sherlock sent Molly’s way, after which she corrected hastily, “…Saying.”

For the first time since she had entered, Sherlock looked at Molly and said, “I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him.”

Molly looked confused and asked with a chuckle, “Sorry, what?”

Sherlock ignored the way Helena tensed where she and Teddy were playing with the puppy and spoke again, “In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift.”

John sighed exasperatedly and muttered quietly, “Take a day off.”

“Shut up and have a drink,” Lestrade said and put a glass in front of Sherlock.

“Oh, come on. Surely, you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag – perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best.”

He stood up and walked towards Molly, who looked panicked.

Helena handed the pup to Teddy and said sharply, “Sherlock.”

He picked up the present and continued, “It’s for someone special, then. The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss. Hooper has lurrve on her mind.”

Concerned and anxious, Helena and John looked at Molly, who squirmed nervously, looked ready to cry. They both knew what was going to happen before it happened. They might know the woman very well, but they didn’t want to see her being embarrassed in front of everyone. So, Helena hissed again, “Sherlock!”

“The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all. That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn. And that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she’s wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the…”

Suddenly, there was silence even though Sherlock spoke, but nothing came out. Helena walked where Sherlock was standing and said tightly, “If you’ll excuse us.”

With that, she dragged him to the kitchen and he complied without complaint. His eyes were still fixated on the name mentioned on the innocent looking label.

_Dearest Sherlock,_

_Love Molly xxx_

He swallowed around the sudden tightness in his throat, only then realising what he would’ve said if Helena hadn’t intervened. His sole focus had been on trying to divert attention away from himself and Molly had been perfect. Though hurting her had never been his intention and suddenly, he was thankful for the timely magic. Finally, he glanced up and forced himself to meet her gaze, flinching internally when he saw her eyes filled with disappointment. He didn’t know what to say… surely, she had to know… she wouldn’t believe the worse of him, would she? He swallowed, wanting nothing more than to hide away and escape from it all…

But he tried, “I – didn’t…”

His voice was back, but he was grasping for words. Helena sighed and rubbed his arm soothingly as if he was the one who had been hurt. Startled, he blinked at her when she said softly, “I know… but you need to apologise to her.”

He nodded, glad that she wasn’t angry before turning around and walked towards Molly.

Molly, who was smiling, but her face was telling and her brown eyes were looking at him tearfully… betrayed and horribly hurt.

Sherlock looked at her, trying to focus on anything but the card in his fist and said, “I am sorry. Forgive me. Merry Christmas… Molly Hooper.”

With that, he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek gently. At the exact moment, his phone sighed orgasmically.

“ _Unnhh…!”_

Helena clenched her fist at the sound because, for whatever reason, the bloody harlot had decided to interfere in their lives once again… as if once wasn’t enough.

Molly gasped with shock, turning as crimson as their Christmas sweaters and fumbled with her words, “No! That wasn’t… I – I didn’t…”

“No, it was me,” Sherlock said, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket.

“My God, really?!” Lestrade gaped like a fish out of water.

Sherlock glared at him and snapped, “My phone.”

John narrowed his eyes and muttered quietly, “Fifty-seven.”

Sherlock side-eyed him and questioned, “Sorry, what?”

“Fifty-seven of those texts – the ones I’ve heard,” John replied flatly and Sherlock threw a glare his way before opening the text.

_Mantelpiece._

“Thrilling that you’ve been counting,” Sherlock replied sarcastically and walked over to the mantelpiece.

He picked up a small box wrapped in blood-red paper, tied with black rope-like string, instantly reminding him of the colour of Adler’s lipstick.

“Excuse me,” he muttered distractedly and walked towards his bedroom, ignoring John behind him.

Once inside, he opened the box, took the camera phone out and stare at it for a long time.

_‘That camera phone is my life, Mr Holmes. I'd die before I let you take it.’_ The words rang in his ears.

It was obvious that either ‘the woman’ was dead or in danger of some magnificent proportion. She was clever, strong and attractive, but manipulative. So much like Helena, but nothing like her at the same time. Sure, he disapproved of her profession and way of living, but he would be lying if he’d say that she didn’t intrigue him. Why hadn’t she asked for his help? A mind such as hers… such a rare thing and he regretted it going to waste on Molly’s slab like so many ordinary people.

Sighing, he walked over to the window and dialled a familiar number with numb fingers.

* * *

January 20th, 2021

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EN: So…. It’s late, but Happy New Year guys. Hope this one would be better than the last. Positive Criticism is always appreciated unless it is rude or insulting. Have a nice day everyone.

**Author's Note:**

> EN: So, here is the third part.  
> As I’ve mentioned before – this series will have 5 parts in total. This particular part has around 8-10 chapters. 
> 
> I tried to keep Sherlock’s character the same as the one played by Benedict Cumberbatch, after all, he’s the inspiration behind this series, but a presence of a woman in his life is bound to change him. I’ve also changed some of the plot accordingly, but mostly the stories will be the same until season 3. The last story, part V, will be somewhat different and not exactly season 4 compliant.
> 
> Positive Criticism is always appreciated unless it is rude or insulting. Have a nice day everyone.


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